


Standing Right Outside Your Door

by mokuyoubi



Series: Elf 'Verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Elf, Christmas, Fluff, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Magic, Polyamory, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Brendon,” Frank said slowly, “you’re not really considering making a life-changing decision based off a Will Ferrell movie, are you?” </p>
<p>Brendon is an elf, tired of living at the North Pole, so he escapes to the least Christmas-like place he can think of…</p>
<p>(1st written, 3rd chronologically in elf 'verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Right Outside Your Door

There was a fire crackling merrily and the whole house smelled of pine and orange. The windows were slowly frosting over, delicate etchings creeping inward from the corners. Snow fell, soft and silent, blanketing everything.

Brendon hated snow. He watched it swirl and eddy outside his window, drifting to the ground growing ever higher. It was almost to his windowsill. He knew when he woke in the morning it would be past his front door, and he’d have to climb out his bedroom window and ski into work. 

When he was younger he loved playing in it, making snow angels and (to his parent’s infinite dismay) snow demons. His team had always been the best at snow ball fights (it was difficult for them not to be, with Pete doing all the planning and building insane forts, and Frank charging into the fray, pelting people indiscriminately with a shriek that terrified the other team’s players), and Brendon had been a fucking _artiste_ when it came to building snowmen. 

He could ski the most dangerous slopes and he’d put those fucking Olympic skiers to shame. Not to mention the fact that he could figure skate like a pro. It was just…that sort of thing sort of lost its appeal after twenty-two years straight of nothing _but_. 

He sent a text to Frank _snows not letting up you should just spend the night, and dont forget the hard liquor. if i have to drink another cup of eggnog, im gonna make the werid al song a reality_

The phone buzzed back a second later. _trying to seduce me, Urie, you charmer? I raided Pete’s cabinets, be there in ten. p.s. I’m not watching ntmr b4 xmas again; its never gonna happen, you freak._

_pizzas almost ready, htfu,_ Brendon sent back. 

Frank’s only response was one of the little cartoon pictograms flipping him off. Brendon smiled despite his bad mood and turned to his movie collection. Getting things shipped up here was ridiculously expensive and the paperwork was a pain in the ass, anyway, so most of Brendon’s movies had been appropriated from work. There were always leftovers—accidental doubles, last minute switches from the _nice_ column to _naughty_ , or the realisation that the intended recipient was way too young for the movie they had requested. 

They usually ended up sorted into boxes in one of the storage rooms, never to be seen again, and Brendon thought that was just a big waste. Patrick was happy to look the other way, but Brendon had been lectured more than once by the big guy about how it was the _principle_ of the thing. 

The door burst open, letting in a rush of cold air and a small flurry of snowflakes. Frank stamped his feet on the welcome rug and slammed the door shut behind him. His arms were full of glass bottles of liquor and plastic bags filled with junk food hung from both wrists. 

Frank was still dressed in his (altered) uniform. He’d made his leggings by taking an old pair of Patrick’s green ones and Pete’s red ones and turning them into a strange checkerboard pattern. Greta had donated one of her skirts to the cause, and Frank had raised them hem a few inches. He said he was challenging the gender stereotypes, but Brendon thought he was just trying to give the big guy an aneurism. Frank had been written up so many times for uniform violations that they’d just stopped bothering. 

“What are we watching?” Frank asked, spreading the shit out over the coffee table. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the couch, on Brendon’s side, too, just to be a bitch. 

Brendon shrugged and held up a copy of _Elf_ he’d recently ‘borrowed’ from the line. “You a fucking freak, Urie,” he said, and then, “but at least it isn’t Tim Burton.” Brendon threw the empty case at him, and put in the movie. 

Frank let Brendon curl under his arm and they drank Pete’s homebrew (made from whatever fruit he could get his hands on, and the rum that was supposed to be rationed into the nog, but far stronger) straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth between swallows. Half a bottle and two frozen pizzas later, Brendon was feeling slightly less annoyed about the snow. 

“This movie’s bullshit, yo,” Frank muttered around a mouthful of caramel corn. 

“Shut up, I like Will Ferrell,” Brendon said. “And I swear to god, if you get going like Patrick about fucking inaccuracies…how is Hollywood supposed to _know_?” 

Frank rolled his eyes, which sort of rankled on Brendon’s nerves. He was in a shitty mood anyway. “Besides,” Brendon said, “I mean, I sort of like the idea.” 

“What idea?” Frank asked slowly. “Bringing some freakish giant orphan here?” 

Brendon poked Frank hard in the stomach. They weren’t _that_ short. “We aren’t _that_ short,” he said. Frank laughing uncontrollably wasn’t really unnecessary, especially since he was shorter than Brendon. “We _aren’t_ ,” Brendon protested. “Maybe Patrick…Pete…you—ow,” Brendon laughed, rubbing his arm where Frank had punched him. 

“You’ve got, like, two inches on me, fucker,” Frank said. 

“Anyway,” Brendon continued on, undaunted, “that isn’t what I meant. I meant the _leaving_ part.” Frank stared at Brendon unblinking. “What, seriously? We _hate_ it here.” 

“I don’t _hate_ it. I love you and Pete and Patrick and Greta and everyone. Just. The job blows,” Frank said. 

“The job, the weather, the perpetual Christmas cheer and the perpetual douchebaggery and stupid rules about what we can and can’t do with our own goddamned lives. I bake _cookies_ for a living, Frank.” 

“Really good cookies,” Frank said earnestly. 

“I wanna do something _else_ , Frank,” Brendon snapped. “I don’t know; dance, sing something other than fucking Christmas carols, interior decoration, fuck, I don’t care, I could cut people’s hair for a living if it wasn’t _here_.” 

“Brendon,” Frank said slowly, “you’re not really considering making a life-changing decision based off a Will Ferrell movie, are you?” 

Brendon’s lips twisted into a scowl and he hid his face in Frank’s shoulder. “No,” he said petulantly. 

Frank kissed Brendon’s forehead and ran soothing fingers through his hair and Brendon tried to relax and be content. He’d been content, he thought. Maybe. When he was very little, and life at the North Pole had seemed magical, the possibilities limitless. He wanted to get back there. He was old enough to know he’d never be perfectly content, but this feeling, like his skin was too tight and he was slowly being suffocated, snow pressing in on all sides—this he couldn’t take. 

They cuddled up together in Brendon’s bed long after midnight, tipsy and drowsy and so full of pizza and chips and popcorn and candy that it _hurt_. Frank fell asleep right away, drooling a little on the pillow. He was the greatest best friend Brendon could ask for, but sometimes Frank just _didn’t get it_. 

Outside the window the multicoloured glow of the lights decorating the eaves of Brendon’s house cast soft spots of colour over the room. “Frank,” he whispered, not expecting an answer. “I’m so unhappy.” 

It took him ages to fall asleep. 

* 

Once the idea had gotten into Brendon’s head, he couldn’t seem to get it out. October was just ending, which meant things were really gearing up in town. The streets were filled with skiers and sleds and children playing. Everyone was bustling around like crazy people, and Brendon was churning out about six dozen cookies every half-hour, like clockwork. 

Usually work got his mind off his problems, because he was so _busy_ , but now he just found himself getting distracted, making stupid mistakes. He’d had to throw out five batches of burnt cookies and he’d decorated another batch all wrong. Greta kept giving him sympathetic looks, and finally told him she’d cover for him if he wanted to head home early. 

Brendon didn’t go home. He knew if he went home, or talked to Frank, he’d eventually get over the feeling. Except even if he wasn’t completely distracted and miserable, he wouldn’t be _happy_ , either. 

So instead of going home, Brendon went to Pete and Patrick’s. Their home was at the very edge of Christmastown. It was Santa’s not so subtle way of trying to get rid of them, or at least ignore them. He didn’t really like anything that didn’t jive with his idea of Christmas, and two gay elves definitely didn’t jive. Except Pete _loved_ Christmas, and was totally oblivious to Santa’s attempts. 

Pete and Patrick worked out of their home. Pete was in charge of keeping track of the state of Illinois’ _naughty_ and _nice_ children. Patrick was always working on new versions of old Christmas songs. He arranged them and sang them. Brendon had used to work with him, because he loved to sing, until he got sick of singing the same things all the time, and besides, he didn’t _feel_ the lyrics anymore. 

Brendon brought some cookies because Patrick loved them, and Pete loved anything with sugar. Patrick took one look at him and seated him in front of the fire with a mug of doctored hot chocolate. 

“I want to leave Christmastown,” Brendon said. 

Patrick and Pete shared a look. “We were wondering when you were going to say anything,” Pete said. Brendon felt his jaw drop. 

“So here’s the plan,” Pete continued. “I’m going to lend you Sally.” Sally was Pete’s pet reindeer. She was the runt of her family, and when Pete had asked for her, the stable hands had gladly let him take her off their hands. 

“Are you sure she can handle it?” Brendon asked. 

“Don’t underestimate Miss Sally. She’ll be good for one run, and she’ll be coming back without your extra weight. Which, since you’re a stick, is pretty unsubstantial, anyway,” Pete said, dodging Brendon’s half-hearted punch.

“I’ve got some money set aside, too,” Pete said. 

“Money?” Brendon asked, agape. “How, why, what for?” 

“Because he’s a corrupt idiot,” Patrick said in a fond way. 

Pete shrugged, grinning. “Whatever. Sometimes the naughty kids send bribes to get put on the nice list.” 

“Seriously?” Brendon said. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified. 

“Seriously,” Pete said. He went to his desk and came back with a jingling sack. “Most of it is in coins, cause the kids don’t have a lot of allowance since they’re, you know, naughty.” 

“But _why_?” Brendon asked. “What good does it do you?” 

“It helps when my friend wants to run away,” Pete said, smirking. Brendon bit his lip on a smile. “Anyway, I’ve managed to save a whole hundred and seventeen dollars.” 

Brendon felt his eyes go wide. “Wow.” That seemed like a lot. Like, in movies, people got happy about getting a hundred dollars, right? Well, they seemed happier about thousands and millions, but they were definitely happy about a hundred. That should be okay. 

“You guys are so awesome,” Brendon said. “Thank you so much.” 

“Do you know where you want to go?” Patrick asked. 

Brendon had thought about this. A lot. For longer than he’d been unhappy, Brendon had wondered about the rest of the world. He’d made a mental list of all the places he’d like to visit, if he was ever able to leave. Now, he’d narrowed that list down to places that were as different from the North Pole and Christmastown as possible. 

“Yeah,” Brendon said, “I think so.” 

* 

There was a kid laid out spread-eagle in the sand. At first, Jon thought he might be hurt or something, but when he drew close, he could see the boy moving his arms and legs back and forth. He was wearing some sort of Christmas-elf costume and the sand all around him was filled with sand angels. Jon had to take a picture or seven. 

The boy sat up, though he couldn’t have heard the camera clicking. When he spotted Jon, he sprang nimbly to his feet, dashing over. “Hello,” he said brightly. He took Jon in, head to toe, and said, “You’re the first real person I’ve met, and you’re shorter than me!” 

There wasn’t a lot Jon could say to that, so he nodded his agreement. The boy smiled so wide it looked like it hurt. “I was worried everyone would be giants,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re not. I’m Brendon.” 

Jon might have found Brendon a little ridiculous, in a charming sort of way. “I’m Jon.” 

“Oh, I’m very pleased to meet you,” Brendon said. “I thought maybe no one lived here.” 

“No one does live here,” Jon said. “You’re in the middle of the desert. I’m just out here on a job.” He waved his camera illustratively. 

“Oh.” Brendon wrinkled his nose. He was probably the palest person Jon had ever seen and he was burning over his cheeks, forehead and the bridge of his nose. “I thought this was Las Vegas.” 

“You’re just a few miles off,” Jon said. “Twenty minutes west.” 

“Oh,” Brendon said again. It was sort of adorable, the way he kept saying it. His face brightened again. “Thank you.” 

“You might wanna put on some sunscreen, too,” Jon said. “That burn’s probably gonna peel.” 

Brendon blinked in polite confusion. “Burn?” he repeated. 

Jon didn’t know what the kid’s game was. He seemed sincere enough. Jon rummaged through his pack for his tube of sunscreen and handed it to Brendon. Brendon took it and stared at it blankly. “Thank you,” he said. 

They stood in an awkward silence for a second. “You, uh, put it on,” Jon said, gesturing helpfully. 

“Oh. Oh!” Brendon flipped open the lid and squeezed some into his hand, rubbing it between his fingers. 

Jon bit his lip on the sudden urge to laugh. “Here,” he said, scooping it off Brendon’s fingers. He rubbed it gently over Brendon’s face. Brendon’s eyes fluttered shut and he turned his face upward. 

“Thank you,” he said, when Jon had finished. “Twenty minutes that way?” he asked, pointing. Jon nodded. Brendon smiled and began to march off with a jaunty wave. Jon watched him a few minutes, frowning, then jogged after him. 

“Where’s your car?” Jon called. 

“Oh, I don’t need one,” Brendon assured him. “Twenty minutes isn’t far.” 

Jon was used to weirdoes—there’d been plenty in Chicago and even more in Las Vegas. This guy seemed like the harmless sort. “I meant in a car. It’s like, twenty miles.” 

“Is that far?” Brendon asked, brow furrowing. 

Jon didn’t manage to contain his laugh that time, but Brendon didn’t seem hurt by it. He smiled brightly in return. “It’s far, especially out here. You can’t walk that far in the desert without lots of water and a compass, and like, survival skills,” Jon explained. He hoped it was implicit that he didn’t think Brendon had any of these things. 

Brendon twisted his lips up considering. “Look, how did you get out here?” Jon asked. 

“A friend lent me a reindeer,” Brendon said. “But I think she got confused when the weather got so hot, and I sent her on home. I guess I didn’t think this through very well.” He shrugged and gave Jon a self-deprecating grin. “But I was so excited. There’s no snow _anywhere_.” 

“No,” Jon agreed. “There really isn’t. A reindeer, huh?” 

“Oh.” Brendon looked at him. “I meant, horse.” He made a funny, fake laughing sound and flapped his hand dismissively. 

It occurred to Jon that maybe _he_ hadn’t brought enough liquids with him this particular trip. He could just be hallucinating the whole thing. If he wasn’t, though, he’d feel awfully bad about leaving the kid in the desert. 

“I’m heading back into town now. I can give you a ride.” He could already hear Spencer’s lecture in his head. 

“Really?” Brendon asked, perking up. “Thank you _so much_.” His entire face just lit up, and Jon thought Spencer’s lecture was worth it. 

Brendon was excited by _everything_. Jon had forgotten to be impressed with cacti and the rainbow of colours to be found in the desert rocks, but Brendon was like a child. He kept pointing out things that no one else might find interesting, and Jon kept finding himself taking pictures, utterly entranced. 

“Where are you heading?” Jon asked, when they finally make it back to his pickup. 

Brendon shrugged. “I don’t know. Las Vegas. I want to play in the casinos, and sing in the shows, and all that.” 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Jon asked. He shouldn’t have been concerned, but Brendon seemed sweet and innocent, and Jon wasn’t a dick. Someone like Brendon shouldn’t be left alone in Vegas. 

“Oh, no, but it’s alright,” Brendon assured him. “Pete gave me, like, one hundred dollars!” He stated the sum like it was something impressive and not something that could be gambled away in less than a minute. 

“You don’t have some place to stay?” Jon asked. He could just imagine the expressions on Spencer and Ryan’s faces if he brought this kid home. 

“It will be okay,” Brendon said. “I have faith.” Like that mattered at _all_. 

Brendon began flipping through one of Jon’s portfolios, making humming noises of approval, and Jon turned on the radio. Brendon was delighted by every song that came on, whether he knew it or not.　 

“You have so many songs here,” Brendon said. “At home our radio only played Christmas songs.” 

Jon frowned in confusion. “All year long?” he asked. 

Brendon nodded wearily. “I just stopped turning it on. But Patrick has a really awesome record collection—a lot of times we’ll all get together at his place and listen to music all weekend. But this is even better.” 

“I like your photography, too,” Brendon said. “Are these all your pets?” 

Jon chuckled. “Yeah. We have a lot of them. I’m more of a cat guy, but my roommates are dog people.” He shrugged. “Luckily they’re nothing like regular dogs and cats. They don’t fight at all.” 

Brendon smiled, flipping to a picture of all the animals cuddled, dozing together in a strip of sun slanting through the window. “We’re not really allowed to have pets back home,” Brendon said. “I mean, some people get them, but they’re not supposed to. I always wanted a dog, but I wouldn’t be able to take care of it right.” 

Jon privately thought that Brendon’s home sounded kind of horrible. 

When they hit the edge of town, Brendon went silent, drinking everything in with wide eyes. “This is Las Vegas?” he asked. 

“This is it,” Jon said. He wasn’t sure what there was to be impressed by. Out on the edges here the hotels were dirty and the casinos were lacklustre. Few tourists came out this far from the heart of the Strip. 

“You can just let me off anywhere,” Brendon said. “I want to do _everything_.” 

Jon waited until they were out of the dodgier part of town. When the low slung, mostly abandoned buildings gave way to narrower streets lined with boutiques and strip malls, he pulled over in a parking lot. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Jon asked. It was Vegas, so his outfit might not be that big of a problem, but the kid was still weird enough that he was going to draw some attention, and it was probably going to be the wrong sort. 

“I’ll be fine,” Brendon assured him, “I know what escalators are.” And with that odd proclamation, Brendon hopped down from the cab of the truck. “Thanks for your help, Jon. I’ll see you later.” He waved cheerfully as he trotted off. 

Jon watched him go with a strange feeling in his chest. He started the truck up and inched it up alongside Brendon, rolling down the window. “Hey,” he shouted. “Look, if you need anything, call me, will you?” He leaned over the passenger side, holding out his business card. 

Brendon hesitated, just staring at it for a second, before stepping close and taking it. He gave Jon a smile that made Jon’s heart do something funny in his chest. “Alright, Jon Walker,” he read. 

*

“I need to find a new dive,” Ryan muttered into the bar top. “This place is too cheerful.” He hadn’t written anything all afternoon. 

“If you call my place a dive one more time…” Mark said, flinging his rag in Ryan’s direction. On stage some touristy, wannabe diva was belting out “Believe.” It _could_ have been tragic, it if wasn’t so hilarious. 

“I need angst,” Ryan said. He contemplated the half-full page of lyrics he was working on. “And absinthe.” Mark slapped a bottle on the counter and they shared quirky smiles. 

Ryan hadn’t really meant to turn the place into his regular haunt, but it was conveniently close to campus and to Spencer’s job, and he got cheap booze and free entertainment, so it sort of happened. Spencer never let him hear the end of it. 

James came over out of costume, sliding onto the stool next to Ryan and laying his elbows out on the counter. “When we gonna get you up there?” he asked slyly, cutting his gaze to the stage. 

Ryan snorted into his cup. “God, that kid is insane,” James said, looking off toward the dressing rooms. There was a guy in an elf costume, pestering Danny dressed as Celine. 

“What is he doing?” Ryan asked. 

“Collecting autographs,” James said. “He’s like, fucking _serious_ about it, too. Definitely a weirdo.” 

Well, as if the costume didn’t give that away from the start. Danny went into the back and the kid started up on one of the Tinas. Ryan could never tell them apart. Mark frowned. “Hey, kid, what the hell are you doing?” 

The boy came over. “You won’t believe all the famous people here,” he said in a loud whisper. “I mean, I knew that Las Vegas was popular, but this is just amazing. And did you know, everyone in my hometown thinks that Elvis is dead, but I’ve seen him eight times since I got here! And I only got here this morning. He must be, like, really busy, because he’s been all over town. You’d think someone would notice he isn’t really dead.” 

Ryan hid his grin in his cup, watching the bewildered exchange of looks between Mark and James. “Look, kid, you’ve got to quit pestering the performers.” 

The kid had the decency to look honestly contrite. “I’m sorry,” he said. He was sort of cute, for a freak. “I’ve just never been out of my hometown before.” 

Ryan couldn’t resist. He had to know. The kid had to be from Ohio or somewhere equally as boring. “And where’s that?” he asked. 

“Oh, the North Pole,” the boy said. And it wasn’t that Ryan didn’t appreciate a little hyperbole here and there, but he still rolled his eyes at the expression. “No one cool and famous ever goes there.” 

Mark scowled. “Hey. Either buy something to drink, get up on stage, or get lost.” 

The kid’s big brown eyes went wider and his pretty, full mouth dropped open a little in surprise. He had the most amazing lashes, Ryan observed, in a dimly shocked sort of way. “Me?” he asked. Then his face split in a ridiculous grin. “Get on stage?” 

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Ryan whispered. He and James shared gleeful looks. It was usually the ones most excited about getting up on stage that sucked the worst. 

“I’ll go help him get ready,” James offered. “Come on kid.” 

“I’m Brendon,” the kid piped up helpfully. 

“Great. Let’s go.” James grabbed Brendon’s arm and led him off towards the back. 

Probably one of the biggest reasons Ryan came back was the fact that before six every weekday, the stage was open to amateurs. There was generally a steady stream of tourists that trickled in for the lunch special, and there was nothing better than lonely, overweight housewives and drunken frat boys getting done up to look like drag queens, then getting on stage and embarrassing themselves. Maybe Ryan enjoyed a little secret schadenfreude. Or not so secret. 

James came back out after two other tourists had taken their turns—a Parton impersonator and a painful Mariah Carey. “That kid is fucking insane,” James repeated, sitting down heavily. 

Ryan arched a pointed brow and struck a listening pose. James shook his head. “When he realised he had to do it in drag, he got all excited and started telling me about challenging gender norms and how it would piss off Santa.” 

“What the fuck?” Ryan asked, laughing a little. “It’s barely November.” 

James shrugged. “Maybe he came to town hoping to get into one of the Christmas shows.” 

Brendon came out on stage to a few catcalls and whistles, and Ryan could maybe understand why. He was wearing slinky dark blue sequined gown that hugged his body, showing off a slender, compact frame and probably one of the nicest asses Ryan had ever seen, on a boy or a girl. His makeup was dramatic and _perfect_ —dark shadow around the eyes making them pop, colour high in the cheeks and deep maroon gloss that made his lips look even fuller and more kissable. 

“At least he’s nice to look at,” Mark mumbled. It seemed to be the general consensus of the crowd. Several of the guests and the regular performers who were hanging around before their shifts were commenting on it, whispers crossing the room. 

Brendon went to the microphone, practically shaking with nerves. “Um. They didn’t have the song I wanted to sing, which I think is really sad, because if this is a bar for drag queens, they should totally have this music. So anyway, they said I could play it myself.” 

“Oh, god,” one of the regular boys said. 

Brendon went to the piano, sweeping his skirt beneath him carefully, and positioning the microphone. He laid his fingers over the keys and took a deep breath, and when he began to play, Ryan fell a tiny bit in love. The melody wasn’t really familiar, but Brendon played it beautifully, fingers darting gracefully over the keys. When he started to sing, Ryan fell the rest of the way. His _voice_. Rich and clear and equally lovely on high notes as on low, and tinged with melancholy, sometimes a little growly or raw, but _perfect_. 

A pleased murmur went through the boys and Danny jumped up from his seat to climb on the stage and grab another mic. Brendon gave him an encouraging smile and when he went into the chorus, Danny harmonised with him. 

“You guys know this?” Ryan asked. 

“Are you kidding?” James said, laughing, eyes fixed on Brendon. “It’s “Wig in a Box,” man.” Which, okay, Ryan might have been able to guess from the lyrics. _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_ ,” James said, when Ryan gave him a confused look. 

Maybe Ryan had heard the title in one of his classes at University—Gay and Lesbian Lit, or something. More of the boys got on the stage just in time for Brendon to say, “Okay, everybody!” They finished the song together, to cheers from the crowd. 

There were calls for an encore, and Brendon graciously complied, going into “Chain of Fools,” and then doing another cover from Hedwig, ‘Wicked Little Town,’ which maybe gave Ryan chills up and down his spine. He wanted to hear Brendon’s voice sing _everything._

When Brendon came back from backstage he was dressed again in his little elf costume. He’d mostly washed off the makeup but there was eyeliner clinging to his lids and a faint sheen of colour over his lips. Ryan felt a little sick to his stomach with guilt at how attracted he was to Brendon. It didn’t make things better when Brendon claimed the stool right next to Ryan and smiled at him. 

“Do you sing, too?” Brendon asked him. 

“Um. No,” Ryan said. 

Brendon leaned over to look at Ryan’s notebook. Ryan normally wouldn’t have allowed it, but he was frozen. Brendon’s chin was hooked over Ryan’s shoulder casually, like Brendon just always randomly touched strangers. Ryan wouldn’t have been surprised, given the kid’s behaviour thus far. 

“These are really good, though,” he said, voice close to Ryan’s ear. 

Ryan shuddered and pushed him away. He shut the notebook and tucked it against his chest. “They aren’t anything special,” he said, and glared. 

Brendon frowned and leaned back. “I’m sorry,” he said gravely. It made Ryan sort of want to touch him. 

“You should stay for the show tonight,” Danny said, coming up and slinging an arm over Brendon’s shoulder. 

“Maybe you could go on stage with us,” James suggested. 

“Oh,” Brendon said, “that’s so kind of you, but I really can’t stay all that long. I have to gamble. I’ve been in Las Vegas almost an entire day, and I haven’t even gone to a casino yet!” 

Danny and James frowned at each other. “But…you could come back later.” 

“Oh, yes,” Brendon said. “I like singing very much. And you don’t know what an honour it is, to be allowed to perform on the stage as so many of the greats.” He sounded so _serious_ about it. So sincere. 

“Yeah,” James agreed softly. If _James_ wasn’t calling bullshit, he had to hear the kid’s sincerity, too. 

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Ryan mumbled, more to himself than to anyone, but he didn’t miss Mark’s concerned look. He shoved his notebook in his bag and shoved a few bills on the counter. “See you guys later.” 

Brendon gave him another smile, this one a little strained around the edges, and waved goodbye at him. 

*

Spencer hadn’t _planned_ on staying in Vegas this long; he and Ryan had had this very carefully outlined plan of escape after high school. Except then life had happened, and it turned out that they actually liked living in Vegas. 

He knew a lot of his co-workers hated their jobs, he knew the turnover rate was ridiculously high. He actually liked what he did pretty well, though. Being a croupier could blow, he supposed, if you weren’t doing it right. But Spencer knew how to treat his players, and since the house didn’t make them pool tips, he got to take home a nice sum every night. 

He was good at what he did, too, which meant his bosses were happy to let him have night shifts. Those always brought in the best tips, and gave Spencer plenty of time to go to classes. He made more working four days a week than most people did in a month’s salary. Plus, he got to see some strange and downright hilarious things. 

Like, for example, some kid dressed as a fucking elf, who was totally not old enough to be in the casino sitting himself down at Spencer’s table. His other players had just departed and he was considering changing the rules of the table when the elf-kid took a seat in the centre, placing two stacks of 5 dollar red chips in front of him. 

Spencer eyed him for a long moment, pursing his lips. “I'm sorry. You have to be at least 21 to play.” 

The boy gave him a winning grin and held up a Nevada State ID that proclaimed him to be twenty-two. Spencer eyed it dubiously, but shrugged. It wasn’t his place to question things unless someone had an obviously fake ID, and this one looked okay. “Sorry about that, sir. I'm required to check.” 

“Buy in is fifteen dollars, payout is 2:1,” Spencer explained. He ran his finger across the rules, and added, “This table is soft 17. I trust you know the rules of blackjack?” He arched a brow. 

The boy shuffled in his seat and nodded his head. “I try to get twenty-one, right?” 

Spencer gave him a tight smile. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Let’s play.” 

He meant to deal the hand in silence, really. He never started conversations. If the guest was chatty, he kept his comments polite and detached. But he was curious. “Are you in a show?” he asked. 

The boy stared at him in disbelief. “I did sing in a drag show earlier,” he said. “How did you know?” 

Spencer faltered a bit before laying down the next card. He had to bite his lip hard. “Lucky guess,” he said dryly. “Are you in the show at Cheng’s?” Spencer didn’t think that they were already doing a Christmas shows, but since Ryan had forbid him from going to any drag show except the one at _The Mansion_ , he couldn’t really say for sure. 

“Oh, no,” the boy said. “I'm planning to get a job at the Cirque. But today's my first day in Las Vegas and I wanted to do the most anti-Christmas thing I could think of, and Pete said something about hookers, but _eww_ no thanks. So I figured singing in a drag show and gambling are good in a pinch.” 

The rule was they weren’t really supposed to talk to the guests. Of course they couldn’t be _rude_ , and they had to respond when spoken to, but conversation was frowned upon. Except, Spencer couldn’t _not_ comment on that. He fought back on his initial response of laughter and said, “Anti-Christmas?” 

“Oh,” the boy said, expression grave. “I _hate_ Christmas.” 

“But,” Spencer said, and paused. “Your costume…is this some kind of performance art thing?” 

The boy frowned. “No,” he said glumly. “It's my work uniform. I don't have any other clothes except my PJs.” He leaned over to whisper, tone excited, “After I win big in the casinos, I'm going to buy a pair of blue jeans. I've heard they're really comfortable!” 

Spencer twisted his lips in annoyance. Either the guy was some frat boy on a dare, or just plain crazy. “Yes, sir,” he said blandly. “There's nothing like blue jeans for comfort and versatility.” 

“I've seen in movies that there are entire buildings with nothing but different kinds of clothes, and you can buy them in colours other than red and green.” 

Yeah. Definitely a frat jerk, then. “That's true, sir,” he said. “Many different colours. And sometimes even patterns. Would you like to hit or stay?” 

The boy scrambled to look at his cards. “Um… Hit?” 

Spencer laid down another card for the boy and another for himself. The boy stayed. “Player has 18 Dealer has 22. Congratulations, sir,” he said, paying it out. 

The boy made a face. “Sir sounds silly. You can call me Brendon—” He leaned across the table to read Spencer’s name tag. “Spencer. You know, you're way nicer than I thought you'd be. The dealers in the movies are always big jerks who are trying to cheat people out of their money.” He gave Spencer a huge smile that Spencer found he wanted to return out of reflex. 

Spencer scowled instead. “Yes, well. Sometimes movies can be misleading.” 

“No lie,” Brendon said earnestly, taking his payout and leaving a chip for Spencer. “Especially the ones about Christmas. They have all these weird ideas about how awesome it must be at the North Pole, and about how Santa’s just this happy, jolly guy, but actually he’s kind of a jerk.” 

Spencer was more than a little curious about this guy’s weird obsession with Christmas, but he was annoyed enough not to say anything. He just made a small humming sound. He dealt the next hand and asked, “Hit?” 

They played a few more hands like that, with Brendon going on about all of the ways Hollywood had done wrong by Christmas and Spencer making polite sounds in response. Brendon won a few and lost a few, but every time he tipped Spencer out. Then, he stopped talking abruptly. 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said. “I’m starting to sound like my friend Patrick. We all get annoyed at him when he goes on about it. I guess you probably feel the same way about me. I don’t think I’m very good at making new friends.” He looked so pathetically sad that Spencer, inexplicably, felt his heart clench. “Anyway, thanks for putting up with me at all.” He took his winnings and left a neat pile for Spencer, then waved as he walked away. 

And Spencer maybe felt like a huge dick. 

*

Brendon bought some _amazing_ jeans. He’d felt a little silly at first, because the shop girl told him he was shopping in the _girl’s_ section. But the jeans there were really cute. They had gemstones and glitter on them. He thought of Pete and Frank telling him to fight the power, whatever that meant, and decided it meant buying girl’s clothes if he liked them. 

He’d hit a mini-jackpot on the slot machines, so he decided to spring for a couple pairs of jeans, three new shirts and a pair of tennis shoes, too, which where were _awesome_. As soon as he got a chance, he was going to have a ritualistic burning of his uniform. 

There were lots of things to do on The Strip. He saw a Cirque show, finally, which he knew was going to be awesome. He and Pete had watched one of their DVDs, and Brendon could totally bend and flip like that. He knew as soon as he got the chance to audition, they’d put him in the show, _too_. Except he’d tried to tell them that at the show, but no one had _listened_. But, there were like, five other Cirque shows in town, so he figured all hope was not lost. 

He had dinner at a place near the strip that promised all he could eat shrimp for 99 cents. Admittedly Brendon didn’t know a _lot_ about American currency, but he could tell that was cheap. 

What was most surprising was the heat, though. He’d known it would be hot in Las Vegas, because it was a desert. But living in the North Pole hadn’t prepared Brendon for real heat. He’d started feeling weak and sick in the late afternoon. Going into air conditioned places helped, but Brendon didn’t think he could last another day walking around in the heat. 

Also, Vegas wasn’t at all what Brendon had been expecting. He’d seen lots of movies with it—he really loved the _Ocean_ movies especially. They’d made it seem so glamorous and full of potential. It was pretty, on the surface, but after spending just one afternoon, he sort of got the feeling that he’d seen everything Vegas had to offer. 

Brendon really wanted to do was go back to _The Mansion_ , but he was too drained to walk all the way back. The guys there had been so nice, though. And the boy with the notebook had maybe been the prettiest person Brendon had ever seen, until Spencer the dealer. Maybe Las Vegas just had really pretty people. The showgirls were certainly nice to look at, if in a fake way. 

Maybe Brendon was just too used to Christmastown, where almost everyone was nice, but Las Vegas didn’t seem all that friendly a place. Besides Jon, who’d been like, Greta level nice. That was rare, even in Christmastown. 

And so, okay, maybe heckling performers wasn’t the best way to make new friends, but the weird looking dude on the street corner had _totally_ been faking his magic tricks, and Brendon wasn’t down with that. 

Not that Brendon’s magic was all that impressive, as far as magic went. Like, he couldn’t conjure things up like the Leprechauns, or fly like the cupids. He couldn’t teleport or freeze time, or any of that handy stuff. He could, however, cheer people up like a champ, and make children sleep. Also, he could float, but that wasn’t very impressive when he couldn’t propel himself. And the making it snow thing might be cooler someplace like Vegas, but in Christmastown, where it snowed all the time anyway, Brendon didn’t really get the point. 

The point _here_ was that at least Brendon wasn’t some charlatan trying to cheat people out of their money. The people didn’t seem to appreciate his help, and Brendon had seen enough movies to know that when you heard the police sirens, you ran. 

It was late by then, anyway. The city was still bustling with activity. In fact, it seemed busier now, but Brendon was ready to sleep for a whole day. Throughout the day, Brendon had been keeping an eye on the different hotels. There were some relatively inexpensive ones right off the main strip. 

A man bumped into him on his way in the door and didn’t even apologise, and Brendon just thought, for a brief moment, how nice it would be to be at home on his couch, cuddled with Frank. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet. 

“Can I help you?” the woman at the desk asked and she smiled like she meant it. That was a start, right? 

Brendon reached in his pocket for his money and found it empty. Frowning, he checked the other side. “Um. Just a second,” he said, smiling, embarrassed. He stepped aside and went through his shopping bag, but the money wasn’t in there, either. “There was a guy,” he said to the woman. She looked back blankly. 

Maybe. Just maybe it was time to admit defeat. Brendon pulled out his cell phone, selecting Frank’s number and hitting the call button. There was silence for a long moment then a strange beeping noise. A recorded message came on telling him the number was unavailable from his current location. He tried twice more, then tried Pete’s, Patrick’s and Greta’s numbers, all with the same response. 

Brendon blinked back tears, sitting heavily on one of the chairs in the lobby. “Well, shit,” he said glumly. 

* 

Ryan was the first to get home, which wasn’t entirely unusual. He put down pet food and took Hobo and Boba out for a walk. His head was a little bit of a mess and he had hoped that being out in the night with the dogs, alone, would give him a chance to clear things up. It didn’t. He couldn’t get his mind off the kid from the club—Brendon. 

It was just—Ryan wasn’t usually the sort of person who did the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing. He was pretty sure he still wasn’t. He just needed to convince the ache in his chest of that, and everything would be fine. Right now, though, he just felt sick. 

He hadn’t _wanted_ to watch the movie, but all afternoon and evening, Ryan couldn’t get Brendon’s voice out of his head. It was maybe a little desperate, but he hoped watching the movie would fix that for him. 

Instead, he ended up mostly zoning out through the first half of the movie, daydreaming about Brendon singing the songs. Which was maybe twelve different kinds of ridiculous since the songs weren’t even _sexy_. Well written though. Ryan _might_ have been feeling inspired to write, but he refused to pick up a pencil, though his fingers itched for one. 

Spencer came home, left his bag by the door and Ryan moved forward enough on the sofa that Spencer could fit behind him. “Good movie,” Spencer said, kissing Ryan’s cheek in greeting. He wrapped his arms around Ryan’s middle, holding him tight and close and Ryan just felt _worse_ about the whole Brendon thing. 

“It’s boring,” Ryan said, and switched the output to television. The news came on softly in the background. 

“What’s up?” Spencer asked, and Ryan could hear the frown in his voice. 

“Nothing,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the sofa. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, “that convinced me.” His kisses moved down the curve of Ryan’s neck where he mouthed over the top of Ryan’s spine. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Ryan said. 

Spencer squirmed closer and stopped kissing. He rested his chin on Ryan’s shoulder and pressed their cheeks together. “I could cheer you up. There was this kid at the casino today—couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but he had an ID, and it looked okay, but he was—”

“Honeys, I’m home!” Jon came in from the hall and grinned at them. “Sorry. After party went late and the mother of the bride was fucking _insane_. She wanted pictures of every single dance…”

Jon knelt in front of the couch, giving Spencer a quick, smiling kiss. “Hey,” Spencer greeted lazily and happily. 

“Hey, babe,” Jon said to Ryan, and kissed him more slowly. “What’s with frowny face?” 

Spencer sighed heavily. “We’re just going to have to cheer him up.” He and Jon shared a devious look. Normally it would have gotten Ryan excited. 

“No, guys,” he said. He pushed at Jon’s chest and twisted in Spencer’s grip. Jon scooted back and Spencer let him go easily. Ryan sat at the opposite end of the couch, drawing his legs up to his chest and hugging them. 

Jon and Spencer shared another look, this one wary and concerned. “Okay,” Jon said calmly. He rummaged through his bag and came out with his digital camera. “You guys have to see this.” Ryan loved Jon insane amounts, for so many different reasons. One of which being Jon’s ability to just let things go until Ryan was ready. “There was this crazy kid out in the desert today.” 

“Everybody and their crazy kids today,” Ryan muttered. 

Jon arched a brow at him. “I was telling him about this kid at the casino today,” Spencer explained. “Kept talking like a freaking alien, or something—about how he’d never worn blue jeans and never been to a shopping mall, and his ID was for Las Vegas, but he said that today was his first day here.” 

Ryan felt himself relaxing a little, listening to Spencer talk. It felt normal. And Ryan still loved him, and Jon, still wanted them both. This Brendon guy hadn’t changed that. It was just some weird crush, or something. 

“You always get the crazies,” Jon commented, putting his hand on Spencer’s knee and leaning in for a long, sweet-looking kiss. 

“Yeah, they’re attracted to me,” Spencer muttered wryly. Ryan flipped him off and Jon bit down hard on Spencer’s bottom lip. Spencer pulled back, laughing. His smile was still the most beautiful thing Ryan had ever seen, tied with Jon’s face when he first woke up in the morning. 

“Anyway,” Spencer said, “that wasn’t even the weirdest part. He kept going on about _Christmas_ , about how much he hated it, except he was wearing this weird elf-costume.” 

Ryan felt his heart drop again because what were the fucking chances? Jon’s mouth dropped, and he slowly tilted his camera so Spencer could see the screen. “What the hell?” Spencer demanded, snatching the camera out of Jon’s hand and holding it closer. “What the hell, Jon Walker?” Ryan didn’t want to see. 

“He was just in the middle of the goddamned desert,” Jon said. “I found him making snow angels in the sand, and then he asked if he was in Las Vegas and I told him it was twenty minutes, he just started _walking_. He didn’t have a car, or bike or anything. I asked him how he’d got there and he said reindeer.” 

“Seriously,” Spencer said, a lot of his previous humour gone from his voice. “What the hell?” 

Jon shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know, he’s one of those crazy religious freaks that live out in the mountains. Maybe he escaped?” 

“A Mormon?” Spencer asked. “I think they’re up in Utah.” 

“Dude, they could live in the mountains down here, too. Doesn’t have to be Mormon. There are lots of different freaky religions. It’d make sense how he just showed up in the middle of nowhere, and why he didn’t act like a normal human being.” 

“Maybe,” Spencer allowed. “Shit. Now I feel like an asshole.” He held out the camera for Ryan. 

“I don’t want to see it,” Ryan snapped. He knew he’d been a bit too much of a bitch by the looks that got him. He wasn’t going to get out of it now. They’d want to know what was up. “I mean.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. 

The doorbell rang, at least delaying Ryan’s confession. “I ordered pizza on the way home,” Jon said, springing to his feet. 

“I’ll help you get it,” Spencer offered. 

Ryan knew they were going to talk about him, and wasn’t surprised when it took them five minutes to come back with three boxes. He’d got them all beers and he sat resolutely watching the news—something about sports, and really he couldn't care less, but focussing on it gave him an excuse not to say anything. 

But neither Jon nor Spencer pushed, taking their beers and cuddling up at the other end of the sofa. Ryan noted that they’d left a space for him, if he felt like joining. He loved them ridiculous amounts. But apparently, that alone wasn’t enough for him. He’d always known he was a greedy bastard, but this was taking things too far. 

The news switched to an entertainment piece on Criss Angel, which made Ryan roll his eyes so hard it hurt. It was another one of his showy street performances, geared to generate You Tube buzz, like somehow being the greatest magician meant being the most talked about one. 

One of the audience members was talking, and it took Ryan a second to understand what he was hearing. “This guy started heckling him, saying it wasn’t really magic.” 

“We thought it was just part of the show,” another girl said, “but then he went over and tore the paper off, so that everyone could see there wasn’t really any glass.” 

“Awesome,” Jon said gleefully. He nudged Ryan with his toes to share a grin. 

The screen cut to a video, the reporter speaking over it. “The heckler, an unidentified young man, then proceeded to perform several of Angel’s own tricks, from levitating himself and others, to rendering Angel himself invisible.” 

So, Ryan shouldn’t have been surprised to see that the video was of Brendon. He’d finally changed his clothes, and looked really good in his skinny jeans and sparkly yellow and pink t-shirt. The shot was a looping video of Brendon levitating several feet off the ground, higher than Angel had ever done, outside of his stupid, obvious building float. 

“Several audience members remained sceptical, calling it a publicity stunt. Angel refused to comment.” 

“That was…” Spencer said, disbelievingly. 

Jon nodded. “Yep.” 

Jon’s phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, skittering towards the edge. He caught it and looked at the number. “You know that?” he asked, showing it to Spencer. Spencer shook his head. “You?” he tipped it towards Ryan. 

“What the hell sort of area code is 777? I thought that was, like, forbidden from use, like 666, and numbers that start with 555. Like, fake,” Ryan muttered, glaring at the number. 

Jon shrugged. “I dunno.” He flipped open the phone anyway. “Hello?” His eyes went wide. “Hello, Brendon.” He held the phone out from his face and hit the speaker phone button. 

“I’m so sorry to call you,” Brendon was babbling. “I know it’s awfully late, and I don’t understand how things work at all, here, but I really thought it was going to be different from this. I even set aside some money so I could get a room to stay in for the night, but then there was this man who ran into me in the lobby, and I thought he was just drunk, but when I went to get my money, it was gone, and I think that guy stole it, but when I tried to tell that to one of the guards at the hotel, he just laughed at me.” 

“Yeah,” Jon said, tone sympathetic. “Stuff like that happens a lot, unfortunately.” 

“Well. I remembered that you said I could call you if I needed something, and I feel really bad about this, Jon. I tried to call my friends from home, but I can’t seem to reach them. My phone keeps telling me that the numbers are unavailable, and…”

“Brendon,” Jon interrupted. “Give me a second.” He pressed the mute button on the phone, and Ryan knew what he was going to say before he even said it. “Guys.” 

“You gave him your phone number?” Spencer asked. “He’s insane!” 

“Yeah, but Spence, you can’t tell me that you think he’s _dangerous_. He didn’t know how to put on sunscreen, or that you couldn’t just take off walking through the desert without water or anything. We can’t just leave him alone in the middle of the city without any money and not knowing how to handle himself,” Jon argued. 

“It isn’t our job to do anything,” Spencer said, but his tone said that he was already letting Jon convince him otherwise. “And what if this is some sort of scam. Don’t you think it’s weird he met both of us? What if he’s been scoping out our place and this is how he gets in?” 

“Seriously, Spence, sometimes you’re too suspicious for your own good,” Jon said affectionately. “Do you really think that?” He scooted closer, using his best puppy dog eyes, laying his cheek on Spencer’s knee. 

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Spencer said, “is that I don’t like the idea of some freaky stranger sleeping in our house. Even if he wasn’t a big weirdo, we just met him. Jon, I seriously don’t know how you’ve managed to stay alive this long, with your weird propensity for bringing home complete strangers from shows and shit, after hearing a sob story about how they don’t have any place to stay.” 

“I _am_ still alive,” Jon said. “Which means I must be an excellent judge of character, Spencer Smith. Besides, I seem to remember a couple certain someones who took _me_ in, when I came out to Vegas and my place to stay turned out to not so much exist. I think that turned out pretty well…” He batted his lashes and ran a teasing finger up Spencer’s thigh. 

Spencer shoved his head away, but cracked a grin. “Okay, fine. But when he slits all our throats in our sleep and steals all our shit, I reserve the right to say I told you so.” 

They both turned to look at Ryan. He felt like he was cheating on them when he just said, quietly, “It’s fine with me.” 

Jon gave him a sweet smile and unmuted his phone. “Hey, Brendon, I talked to my roommates. Why don’t you come stay with us?” 

“For real?” Brendon asked, voice high-pitched and excited. “Oh, Jon! This is, you don’t even know, I was starting to get really scared.” 

Jon shot Spencer a _you’re worried about_ this _guy_ look. “Where are you at, Brendon, I’ll come get you.” 

* 

Brendon was standing on the corner of Flamingo Road and Las Vegas Boulevard, arms crossed over his chest like he was cold. He was clutching a bag from Express, but other than that, he didn’t seem to have anything with him. When he saw Jon’s truck he perked up, waving frantically. 

“Thank you so much, Jon,” he said. “I don’t have anything to give you, or anyway to repay you, but I promise I’ll find a way.” 

Jon chuckled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ve got a couple extra bedrooms that are pretty much wasted on our incredibly spoiled pets.” Brendon smiled, but he still looked miserable. 

The drive was only about fifteen minutes and they passed it in silence, Brendon staring at the lights. When the turned into the house village, Brendon finally began to talk. “I thought it would be more different,” he confessed. “Better, somehow.” 

Jon wasn’t sure how to answer. He had a lot of questions he’d like to ask, but Brendon seemed delicate. Different from the way Ryan was delicate, but all the same, Jon figured it was best to wait and let Brendon open up on his own. He turned into their driveway, waiting for the garage door to open all the way. “I think it’s more about the people in your life, than the place you happen to live,” he said softly. 

“Yeah?” Brendon asked. “Well, you’re awfully nice, Jon. I mean, I can’t even say. But most people here haven’t been all that great.” 

“It’s Vegas,” Jon said. “Places like this, New York, Los Angeles. People are just more cautious is all.” 

“I guess,” Brendon said glumly. They climbed out of the car and when they stepped through the door to the hall, Brendon was immediately assaulted by curious dogs. “Oh my gosh, they’re just as cute as in your pictures! I’ve never seen a real dog before!” He knelt down to pet them and let them lick his face. He looked so honestly surprised and eager that Jon actually _believed_ him. 

“That’s Boba and Hobo. They belong to Ryan and Spence, my roommates,” Jon explained. “Come on, let me show you around.” 

When they came into the living room, Ryan was nowhere to be seen, but Spencer was seated in front of a paused game of Halo. “He freaked out when he heard the garage door opening,” Spencer said, scowling. “Said he needed to take a shower.” 

“Oh, wow,” Brendon said. “You’re…” He stared at Spencer for a long second then turned back to Jon, whispering, “Are you sure it’s okay with him that I stay here?” Spencer sighed. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay?” 

“Yeah, me too,” Brendon said, in that earnest tone of voice he had that somehow made Jon just feel guilty. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I…If you told me what I did wrong, I won’t do it again.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Spencer snapped. “You didn’t. Are you for real?” 

Brendon’s eyes got wider, moisture gathering in the corners. Spencer jumped up from the couch. “I’m sorry,” Brendon repeated. He took a step backwards, angling himself behind Jon’s body. 

“Quit. Quit saying that,” Spencer said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? If I was mad about it, do you think I’d have told Jon you could stay here?” 

“Okay,” Brendon said quietly. “I’m sorry.” 

Jon saw Spencer’s jaw spasm, he was clenching his teeth so hard. “Hey, you hungry?” Jon asked. “We have pizza.” 

“For real pizza?” Brendon asked. “The kind that they bring to your house in a car?” 

Jon bit back a laugh, mostly because he didn’t think Spencer would appreciate it. Spencer was watching Brendon like he was another species altogether. “That very kind,” Jon said. 

“Oh, wow. This is so awesome. I’ve only ever had the frozen stuff, but my friend Pete tells me that the car stuff is a lot better,” Brendon said. 

“Sit down,” Jon instructed, steering Brendon to the couch. “I’ll get you something to drink. Beer okay?” 

“Real beer?” Brendon was almost squealing. “Oh my gosh. Yes. I’m so _sick_ of eggnog.” 

“Eggnog?” Spencer said, like he didn’t want to, but couldn’t help himself. 

“Yeah,” Brendon agreed blandly. “Sometimes we get Pete’s homebrew, but he makes it from the rum that’s supposed to go in the eggnog, and berries and stuff, and it isn’t very good.” 

Spencer looked bewildered, but not homicidal, so Jon figured it was safe for him to leave them for a couple seconds. He brought back another beer for himself, and for Spencer, too. Spencer got a lot more generous and mellow with a buzz going. 

“How can you have never played Halo?” Spencer was asking, when Jon came back in. 

Brendon had a mouthful of pizza and tried to talk around it. “I didn’t have an X-Box or Playstation, or anything. I always wanted one, but they’re really popular, so there are never any left over. I do have a Nintendo-64, though. I kick ass at Goldeneye. No one will play multiplayer with me anymore. 

“I really want to play that new game that all the kids are asking for. Pete got, like six-thousand requests. The guitar one? I think I’d be pretty good at that,” Brendon continued, shoving another piece of pizza in his mouth. “Kids never want instruments anymore, so I have a bunch of them. Pete taught me how to play bass and Frankie taught me how to play guitar, and then I taught myself how to play piano. I was working on the accordion before I left, and Patrick was showing me how to play drums.” 

He took a swig of beer and made a face, then took another sip. “I’m not sure about this,” he said, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. 

Spencer made a sound like aborted laughter. “We have Guitar Hero, if you want to try it.” 

Brendon’s eyes went wide. “Can I really?” He set aside his pizza, rubbing his hands on his jeans. 

“What happened to your…er…costume?” Jon asked, as Spencer began to set up the game. 

“Oh, it’s in the bag with my new clothes. I found one of those places I was talking about, Spencer,” Brendon said. Spencer just nodded his head, refusing to look in their direction. “A mall! Jeans are the best things in the world. You were right, Spencer, they had all different colours and patterns, just like in the movies. Patrick says I can’t always believe what I see in the movies, but I’m glad they were right about the clothes.” 

Spencer thrust the guitar at him and started the game up. “Pick a song,” he said, taking the other guitar for himself. Brendon scrolled through the list, ooohing and ahhing over the songs and finally settled on “Hotel California” for his first. 

Two minutes in, Spencer started eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve never played this?” he asked. Brendon had pretty much a perfect score, and kept hitting the Star Power. Brendon shook his head distractedly, focussing on the screen. 

“This is harder than playing a real guitar, though,” he said. 

“You play guitar, too, hmm?” Ryan asked. Jon hadn’t heard him come down, but he was standing in the doorway from the kitchen, in his favourite pair of Spencer’s worn boxers and one of Jon’s old t-shirts. His hair was damp, curling around his face. 

Brendon’s hands stopped moving over the guitar and he stared at Ryan in disbelief. “You live here, too?” 

“You met him?” Spencer asked Brendon. His tone was cautious. Jon arched a brow at Ryan. 

“He was at _The Mansion_ ,” Ryan said dismissively. “It wasn’t a big deal.” Spencer looked pissed and crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t say anything. 

“I got to sing there. All the guys were really nice, and told me I could come back and sing with them whenever. Mark said if I was interested, maybe I could get a job, but I really wanted to work at the Cirque, only they don’t seem to be hiring, so much,” Brendon explained. The babbling was adorable, and Jon was man enough to admit to himself that he was totally developing some weird crush on the kid. 

“I want to go to bed,” Ryan said, but what he meant was he wanted Jon and Spencer to go with him. They’d been together long enough that Jon could read Ryan-speak. 

“Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Jon said. Spencer and Ryan could deal with whatever drama was about to follow. “Get your stuff, Brendon.” 

Brendon grabbed his bag and followed Jon through to the hall. “The kitchen’s in here,” Jon said, flipping on the light briefly. “You can help yourself to whatever in the fridge. Dining room is through here, but we never really use it to eat.” The table was covered in Jon’s pictures and scattered with Spencer’s homework and Ryan’s notebooks. 

“There’s a bathroom there, and then the back porch. There’s a pool—”

“You have a pool?” Brendon exclaimed in glee. “Oh my gosh, I’ve always wanted to see a pool.” 

Jon resisted the urge to hug the kid and said, “We can go swimming tomorrow morning, if you want. I don’t have any jobs until the afternoon.” 

“You are so awesome, Jon,” Brendon said sincerely. 

Jon led him upstairs. “This is one of the extra bedrooms, but we use it for a music room.” The door was already open, the light on Ryan’s writing desk lighting the room dimly. “We’re sort of a band,” he explained. 

“Neat,” Brendon said. “What do you play?” 

“Eh. Mostly bass. I’m trying to learn piano. Sometimes Ross gets big ideas about what kind of music he wants to write and forgets that he doesn’t _have_ band members who can play them.” 

“Ross?” Brendon echoed. 

“Ryan,” Jon said. Brendon frowned. “Ryan? He’s. Did you not get his name earlier? He’s my. Our…” It was always difficult to explain the threesome thing to new friends. Brendon was probably going to be even worse, given how innocent he seemed about things. Jon just hoped that if Brendon really _was_ from some freaky religious compound, he wouldn’t hate Jon when he found out he wasn’t only gay, but sleeping with two guys. 

“Ryan,” Jon said again. “The one you met at _The Mansion_. Come on. This is the master bedroom.” Ryan had left the light on and his towels strewn across the floor, which was sure to piss off Spencer. Jon picked them up and tossed them in the hamper. “And the master bathroom is through there.” 

“That is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen,” Brendon said, eyeing it. 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “Ryan had it specially made when we bought the house.” 

“But. You could fit four people in there,” Brendon said. 

“Three, at the very least,” Ryan commented, coming in behind them. Spencer followed, looking pissy. 

“Come on, Brendon,” Jon said hastily. He led Brendon down the hall and showed him the other bathroom, and then through to the guest bedroom. “You can stay in here.” 

“Where will the rest of you sleep?” Brendon asked. “I don’t want to take someone’s bed.” 

Jon bit his lip. “We all share the master bedroom,” he said, trying to figure out how to explain it to Brendon without being too explicit. 

But Brendon brightened and nodded his head. “Oh. Well, no wonder your bed is so big, then.” 

“Uh…” Jon was slightly taken aback. “Yeah. So. I’m going to go, then. Are you going to be okay?” 

“I’ll be all right,” Brendon said. 

“There are towels in the cabinet in the bathroom, and you can use any of our shampoo and stuff.” Jon waved his hand in the direction of the bathroom. “If any of the pets try to bother you, you can kick them out. They tend to think of this as their room.” 

“No, that’s okay,” Brendon said quickly. “I’m so _excited_.” 

Jon laughed and shook his head. The kid’s enthusiasm was a little infectious. If Ryan and Spencer weren’t being weird, Jon would totally be down for staying awake all night seeing what other new things Brendon hadn’t experienced before. “See ya in the morning,” he said. 

“Jon,” Brendon said. “Thank you so much, you don’t even know.” He threw his arms around Jon’s neck and hugged him close and tight, like he meant it. Jon hugged him back, liked the way they fit together, just the right heights, and Brendon tucked his face in Jon’s neck, Brendon’s hand in his hair. 

“Night,” Jon said, voice muffled in Brendon’s shirt, and pulled back reluctantly. 

“Goodnight,” Brendon said. 

“So, what’s up?” Jon asked, when he came into the bedroom. Spencer was relieved to note that he closed and locked the door behind him. 

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Spencer said, pointedly glaring at Ryan. 

“Jesus, it isn’t a big deal,” Ryan said, flopping dramatically on the bed. “So I met him too, whatever.” 

“It’s a big deal only because you didn’t _say_ anything,” Spencer protested. “You’ve been weird all night and you didn’t want to see his picture, and you didn’t even fight about Jon wanting to bring him back here.” 

Jon shot Spencer a warning look and, okay, Spencer wanted to be pissed off, because he’d known Ryan the longest, and he _knew_ Ryan was hiding something. But, sometimes Jon was better at coaxing things out of Ryan. 

Jon stripped out of his shirt and jeans and toed off his socks before sliding into bed beside Ryan, curling up close to his side. “Hey,” Jon said. He laid his arm loosely over Ryan’s side and gave him an Eskimo kiss. 

Ryan looked miserable. “Hey,” he mumbled back. 

“Come on, baby,” Jon said. He rubbed his thumb over the inside of Ryan’s elbow and leaned in for a kiss. Ryan gave it reluctantly, but after a moment he just crumbled in Jon’s arms, body relaxing. He let out a sigh and kissed Jon back, hungrily. 

Spencer was still upset, but he felt a weight in his stomach let up. He stripped off all his clothes and climbed in behind Ryan, tangling their legs together. He rested his forehead against Ryan’s back, waiting. 

“What’s up?” Jon asked softly. 

“I—” Ryan took a deep breath and fumbled around ‘til he found Spencer’s hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing. “Brendon. When he came to The _Mansion_ earlier, he was…Look, it’s stupid, I know it, can we forget it?” 

Spencer squeezed Ryan’s fingers back and pressed a kiss to his spine. When Ryan didn’t tense up again, Spencer moved his kisses higher, over Ryan’s shoulder, up his neck. Ryan tilted his head back and Jon leaned forward, kissing up Ryan’s throat ‘til his mouth met Spencer’s. 

“You can tell us,” Jon whispered. 

“It isn’t stupid,” Spencer said. “We want to know.” 

“Really, please, Spencer,” Ryan said softly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He brought their joined hands over his stomach, under the sheets. Spencer took the cue, slipping his hand free and teasing under the waistband of Ryan’s boxers. 

Jon met Spencer’s gaze over Ryan’s shoulder and it said, _later_. Spencer nodded and leaned in for another kiss. Jon’s lips met his and Spencer let his hand close around Ryan’s cock, already hard and leaking. Spencer might have had a notion of just what it was about Brendon that was bothering Ryan. He wasn’t sure whether he was bothered by it, or not. 

Jon pushed back the sheets. He pushed Ryan’s shirt up high on his chest and scooted down to place his lips on Ryan’s chest. He kissed his way down and Spencer could feel Ryan’s stomach quivering at the touch. Then Jon’s tongue was on Ryan’s cock. He closed his lips around the head and Spencer adjusted his stroke, letting Jon take more inside. 

Ryan let out a soft cry, far quieter than he usually was, and Spencer was acutely aware how thin the walls were in the house, and how close Brendon was. Maybe he even found that exciting. He ground his erection against Ryan’s ass and Ryan arched his back. Ryan put his hand in Jon’s hair, tugging, and Spencer felt Ryan’s cock twitch as he came. 

Jon laid a kiss on Ryan’s thigh and looked up at him, lips red, eyes devious. “Someone was pretty worked up,” he commented. 

“Mmm,” Spencer agreed playfully. He rolled onto his back, opening his arms in welcoming. Jon climbed over Ryan and settled between Spencer’s thighs. Somewhere Jon had gotten his underwear off. 

Ryan looked pretty blissed out, but he still scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed the lube for them. He poured it in his hand and slicked it down Spencer’s cock. Spencer’s hips bucked up, chasing the sensation and Ryan gave in for a second, tightening his grip, before Jon made an impatient noise and brushed Ryan’s hand away. 

Jon swung a leg over Spencer’s hips and lowered himself slowly. He leaned over Spencer, grabbing his wrists and pressing them to the pillow next to Spencer’s head. Spencer liked to grab hips and set his own pace, and Jon liked to fight him all the time. 

Ryan made a soft sound of amusement and curled up next to them. They’d had a year of practice and Spencer still wasn’t sure how they made it work with the three of them, all tangled lips, but they fit, somehow. Ryan got his mouth on Spencer’s ear and his hand on Jon’s cock and matched their rhythm. 

No one bothered to clean up after, and Spencer knew they’d regret it in the morning. But he was warm and comfortable, smooshed between with Ryan’s legs over his hips and Jon’s arms wrapped all around them both. 

*

Brendon got up super early. He’d been so worn out the night before that he’d fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’d been a little jealous of the other boys, who all got to cuddle with each other. Based on Jon’s hug, Brendon knew he’d be a good cuddler, and Spencer looked like he’d be soft to fit up against. But he was a stranger, he understood. Still, it made him miss Frank. 

Then he woke up with two cats curled up around his legs and his arms around Hobo. Boba was curved against his back. That almost made up for being left out of the human cuddles. 

The shower was really nice after a day in the sun, and when Brendon got out and looked at himself in the mirror, he suddenly realised what Jon meant by getting burnt. He was vibrant red all over his face and along his neck and arms where his skin had been bare. It was painful to the touch and he cringed when he pulled his shirt into place. 

No one else was awake, which was perfect, as far as Brendon was concerned. He maybe couldn’t pay them back for their generosity with money, yet, but he could find other ways. 

By the time he heard the others stirring, Brendon had already made three batches of his famous sugar cookies, as well as a batch each of all of his family’s secret recipes. He’d wanted to make a gingerbread house, but the kitchen lacked a lot of the essential decorating elements. He’d brewed a pot of coffee and made some hot chocolate just in case someone didn’t like coffee, and then just to be careful, he’d started the teapot, too. 

Spencer was the first to stumble into the kitchen and it took him a couple of seconds of fumbling with the coffee maker to realise that it was already hot. “Um.” He rubbed his face and looked around the room, eyes widening. 

Brendon hurried over, easing the handle of the coffee pot out of Spencer’s hand and pouring some into the waiting mugs he’d set out. Spencer said dully, “What _is_ all of this?” 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, heart falling. “Have I messed things up again? I was trying to do something to thank you, because I can’t tell you what it means to me that you helped me, and you’ve just been super nice. But I guess maybe I shouldn’t have used your things without asking. As soon as I have money, I’ll buy you new.” 

“Brendon,” Spencer said. He sounded more awake. “You’ve got to stop freaking out. I’m not mad, and you don’t have to buy us new stuff. I was just surprised. And I’m half-asleep. You made all these this morning?” 

Brendon nodded, biting his lip. He wanted Spencer to like him, but he seemed to be going around it all the wrong way. “I woke up kind of early.” 

Spencer went to the island, looking over the array of cookies. “I don’t even know what most of these are,” he muttered. 

“Oh. I had to improvise with some of the decorations. The Nürmburger Lebkuchen usually have candied cherries or citron, but the closest I could find was oranges, and I had to slice the almonds myself, so they didn’t come out so well. It’s supposed to look like a daisy.” He decided to leave out the part where he’d cut his thumbs a few times in the process. 

“And then there are thumbprints, jewel drops, chocolate hazelnut biscotti, rum balls, peanut blossoms and, of course, sugar cookies, though the icing is a little different, because I was running low on shortening.” 

The oven dinged and Brendon hurried to get the next batch out. He could feel Spencer tracking each movement. “Won’t you have some,” Brendon asked. 

Spencer hesitated a second. He took one of the plates Brendon had laid out and began to pick through the selection. “Which are your favourites?” Spencer asked. 

“These,” Brendon said, taking one of the cookies from the pan. He rolled it back and forth between his hands for a second to cool it. He dipped the ends in the melting chocolate on the stove. “Here.” He held it out, cupping his hand under it to catch the drips. 

Spencer leaned forward, lips brushing Brendon’s hand as he ate it. “Wow.” He looked at Brendon like he was actually _seeing_ him for the first time. “That was really awesome. What are they?” 

“They’re sort of like Russian teacakes, only I use more cornstarch,” Brendon said. “Most people call them melting moments, because of they way they melt in your mouth, but my family has a secret ingredient.” 

Jon came in bleary-eyed and stopped short. Ryan bumped into him from behind and the two of them stared at the kitchen with identical expressions of wonder. “Is it Christmas morning?” Jon asked. “Did we sleep for two months?” 

“Brendon is some sort of genius baker,” Spencer said, and it made Brendon feel warm inside. “Come try this shit. Seriously, your family are bakers?” 

Brendon shrugged. “Some of them,” he said. “My mother was, and her father. My sister was doing it, but then she got married and had a baby, and she decided to stay home and knit stockings instead. I was doing music for a while, but when she stopped baking, I took over.” 

They all shared those significant looks again, and Brendon wasn’t exactly sure what the problem was, but he was beginning to get the idea that it had to do with his talking about his life in Christmastown. Maybe he should just stop it. 

Brendon turned his attention back to dipping the rest of the melting moments while Jon poured two half-hot chocolate half-coffee, for himself and Ryan. He grabbed one of each kind of cookie for himself, while Ryan deliberated over them, finally settling on a rum ball, peanut blossom, and a Lebkuchen, because “I like the daisy,” he murmured. Brendon smiled into his shoulder. 

He cleaned while they ate, putting everything away and doing the dishes. He was packing up the leftover cookies when he heard Spencer whisper, “Can we keep him?” 

Brendon peeked over to see Jon smiling smugly. Ryan was picking at his almonds, though, and he was frowning a little. Well. Brendon was winning over Spencer. He could make Ryan like, him, too. He’d just have to try harder. 

*

After breakfast, Ryan disappeared upstairs and locked himself in the music room. It wasn’t entirely unheard of, for him. Spencer decided it was his solemn duty to school Brendon at every video game, ever. Jon was happy to help, but it turned out that Brendon was pretty good at the games though. He picked them up quickly and ended up kicking Spencer and Jon’s asses most of the time. 

When the sun was fully up in the sky, Jon set down his control and stretched. “It’s supposed to get cold soon. This will probably be the last day good for it for a while, if you still want to go swimming,” Jon said. Brendon’s wide-eyed, eager look was enough of an answer. 

Spencer and Jon got changed and loaned Brendon an extra pair of Ryan’s since he obviously didn’t care about joining them anyway. The sun was casting the shadow of the house over the pool, but Jon made a mental note to cover Brendon in sunscreen before letting him out in the sun again. 

With so much skin left bare, Jon could see just how pale Brendon’s skin was, especially in contrast with the red of his burn. He could also see the really nice line of Brendon’s body—smaller and more compact than Spencer, but not quite so bony as Ryan. It was really nice. Jon liked the way Brendon’s back curved in sharp relief to the swell of his ass. He thought about getting his hands there. A look at Spencer’s slightly glazed eyes suggested he might be thinking the same thing. 

Brendon watched them both get in the water and stood by the steps with a puzzled, determined expression on his face. He touched his toe to the surface of the water and watched the ripples spread outward. 

“What’s up?” Jon asked. 

Brendon’s lips twisted. “Well. I don’t really know how to swim,” he said. 

Spencer hid his smile against Jon’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” Jon assured him. “The water there is shallow. You can stand up in it.” 

“Come on,” Spencer said. He swam up to the side of the pool and stood where the water barely came to his hips. “We won’t let you drown.” He held out his hand and Brendon took it cautiously. Spencer slowly waded backward and Brendon’s arm went taut between them before he began to descend into the water. 

Brendon stopped short on the third step, water swirling around his knees. “I’ve never been in water this deep,” he said, voice shaky. 

Spencer’s face was soft and sweet, and Jon thought maybe finally Spencer had moved beyond his annoyance with Brendon and got to the place Jon had long come across—where all Brendon’s quirkiness was just adorably charming. “They don’t have streams or lakes or anything where you come from?” Spencer asked. 

“Oh, I suppose there are some,” Brendon said. He had a thoughtful look on his face. “Although they were always—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. Then he smiled and there was something weird about it. “But you two don’t want to hear about where I’m from.” 

Spencer frowned and looked at Jon, who shrugged. Jon came forward slowly, so as not to stir the water, and took Brendon’s other hand. Together they coaxed him off the steps altogether and to where the water lapped at his waist. 

“This is…okay,” Brendon said hesitantly. His grip on Jon’s hand was slightly painful, and he looked vaguely terrified. They walked him to where the pool began to slant sharply downward, and Brendon skittered backward, letting go of their hands and clinging to the side of the pool for five minutes while Jon and Spencer laughed. 

It took another five minutes, and then Brendon seemed comfortable enough to move freely around the shallow end of the pool, even slowly getting down on his knees so he was submerged to his shoulders. 

Jon was content to watch from the deep end, braced on the ladder. Spencer swam over, resting his head on Jon’s shoulder and treading water. “How is he the most adorable thing ever?” Spencer asked. Jon gave him a smug look and Spencer punched him gently in the arm. “Okay. You were right. Whatever.” 

The dogs came trotting out through the back and jumped in the pool, which was normal enough since Ryan had insisted on teaching them how to swim (and Spencer had had red welts across his stomach for a week after, from trying to calm Boba down). 

Brendon, however, was startled enough that he scrambled to his feet, slipped, and went under altogether. He came up sputtering and pulled himself out over the side, rolling far away from the edge of the pool. “I think I’m drowning!” he shouted. 

Spencer got out, laughing, and ran over to Brendon’s side, kneeling beside him. Jon saw them together, outlined against the sun, the water on Spencer’s hair beading and dropping to Brendon’s pale, pale skin. They made a striking image. Jon’s fingers itched to have a camera in them. 

“You’re an idiot,” Spencer said through his laughter. He helped pull Brendon into a sitting position and smacked him roughly on the back a few times for good measure. 

“I like it better when you’re laughing at me, than when you’re scowling,” Brendon told him sincerely, and Jon held his breath, worried for a second. 

But Spencer’s laughter gave way to a soft smile. “I can be a dickhead sometimes, Brendon. Don’t take it personally.” 

They towelled off and went back in, Jon and Spencer trembling from the cold of the air conditioner. Brendon, however, shrugged off his towel as soon as they were inside and closed his eyes in pleasure. “ _Finally_ ,” he said. “It is so hot here, I thought I was going to die yesterday.” 

“Let me put some aloe on your burn,” Jon offered. “That will help a lot.” He dragged Brendon into the downstairs bathroom where they kept all the sunscreen and aloe and other outdoorsy, swimming stuff. 

Brendon made a face when Jon poured a handful of aloe out. He leaned forward to sniff, nose wrinkling. “It looks like Christmas jelly,” he said. “And smells like the doctor’s.” 

Jon tried to stifle his laughter. “It’s medicated. It’s good for you. Close your eyes.” 

Brendon pursed his lips and looked dubious, but he closed his eyes. Jon was reminded of the unquestioning, trusting way Brendon had closed his eyes yesterday, for the sunscreen. It was probably a good thing Brendon had ended up here. Jon hated to think of how he might be taken advantage of in the city. 

Jon spread the aloe over the burn and Brendon made a soft, pained sound. A moment later, though, when Jon moved on to the burn on his collarbone and arms, Brendon laughed. “My face is tingling. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Jon actually found himself _leaning in_ to kiss Brendon before he caught himself. Brendon tipped his head to the side in confusion, but didn’t say anything. “Sorry,” Jon said. “Yeah. Aloe’s awesome. Here.” He shoved the bottle at Brendon. “When it starts hurting again, put more on. I have to. I have to get ready. I’ve got a job.” 

He stumbled out of the bathroom, and okay, _yeah_ he was attracted to Brendon, but this was _insane_. He found people attractive all the time, men and women and he didn’t try to act on it. He didn’t just randomly kiss really adorably innocent people—especially since he was already in a relationship with _two other people_. 

Spencer was already in the shower when Jon came up. He looked at Jon and frowned. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing. Just,” Jon paused, trying to figure out how to phrase it would pissing off Spencer. Ryan came slamming into the room, though, saving him for the moment. 

“I’m going out. I don’t know where to, and I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I’m turning off my phone,” he informed them, then stood there with his arms crossed, like he was waiting for a fight. 

“Okay,” Spencer said easily, not even looking at him. 

Ryan made a harrumphing sound and spun around. “Dude, what’s up with the diva act?” Jon asked as he stepped into the shower. 

Spencer shrugged. He stepped aside to share the spray of water with Jon. “He has been spending an awful lot of time around a bunch of drag queens.” 

*

Spencer distracted Jon far too long in the shower, so that by the time they got out Jon had to rush to get dressed and leave on time for his appointment. It meant Spencer would be cutting it close to get to class on time, too, but it had totally been worth it. He’d been inexplicably horny after swimming. 

After dressing and getting his stuff together, he headed downstairs. The house was very still. Ryan and Jon were gone and the cats were resting lazily on the dining room table, heedless of the piles of papers. His wet dogs had been banished by Jon to the back porch to dry and were looking at Spencer reproachfully through the glass. It took Spencer a second to realise that there should still be another person in the house. 

He checked the guest room and guest bathroom, then the kitchen just in case Brendon had decided to make up for fake drowning by making another eight dozen cookies, or something. He finally found Brendon in the laundry room. 

Usually the laundry piled up until they were all wearing stuff from the back of their closest and resorting to sniffing old clothes to find ones that weren’t too ripe and then shaking the wrinkles out. Then there was usually an epic fight over who had to do the laundry, and whenever Ryan lost, he threatened to just go out and buy new clothes. The last time Spencer had peeked into the laundry room—yesterday, when tossing his work clothes in—the piles of laundry had been at least a foot tall. 

Brendon was standing at the dryer, surrounded by basket after basket of neatly folded clothing. And it wasn’t just, like, neat. It was like store-crisp, with all the perfect lines and everything. 

“Hey, Spencer,” Brendon greeted cheerfully. “I’m just about finished. I started earlier, in between batches of cookies, and I totally forgot about this load. I was worried they’d wrinkled, but I think I caught it in time.” 

“Brendon, you didn’t have to do our laundry,” Spencer said. 

“It’s okay,” Brendon assured him. “I was on Gift Wrap duty a few years ago, before I—” He stopped abruptly, like he had earlier and Spencer waited for him to continue, but Brendon shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t mind. You’ve been so kind, and I have to pay you back somehow.” 

Spencer felt this was a fight he wasn’t going to win anytime soon, so he decided to let it go for now. Jon was better at convincing people of shit anyway. He made a mental note to ask Jon to ask Brendon to stop being weirdly subservient. 

“Look, Ryan and Jon have left, and I have to get to class—”

“Oh, right,” Brendon said. He finished what he was folding and stepped back. “I’ve more than overstayed my welcome. I’ll go get my things.” 

“Brendon!” Spencer grabbed his arm as he moved to leave. He tried to keep his voice even because he didn’t want Brendon to freak out on him again. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to leave. You. I kind of get that you left home for some reason, and you don’t have to tell me. I know about family drama.” Well, he knew about Ryan’s family drama, and Ryan was like family, so. “You can stay here as long as you need to. And you don’t have to make cookies and do our laundry, either. We want you here. You’re welcome.” 

“But, Ryan…” Brendon said softly. 

Yeah, Ryan. “He gets like this sometime, when he’s under pressure. He’s got a big deadline coming up. But when Jon asked us if you could come, I wasn’t so sure at first, but Ryan said yes right away. He wouldn’t have said that if he minded, okay?” 

Brendon didn’t meet Spencer’s gaze, but he nodded. “Alright,” Spencer said. “So now that we’ve got that out of the way. What I was going to say was, if you don’t want to stay here by yourself, you can come with me to class.” 

“Class at a university?” Brendon asked. 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah.” 

Brendon was unreasonably excited by the prospect, but Spencer was ready to accept that was Brendon’s default reaction to _everything_. “If you’re going to school, why don’t you live in a dorm?” Brendon asked on the drive over. “In the movies, everyone lives in dorms.” 

“I lived in the dorm my freshman and sophomore year. Ryan was a year ahead of me in college, and we roomed together,” Spencer explained. 

“Is that when you met each other?” Brendon asked. 

“No. Ryan and I have known each other forever. We met when we were little kids. We started dating when he graduated from high school. We’d planned on rooming together since we first started talking about college, but once we started…” He’d meant to say sleeping together, but thought that might be too forward for Brendon. “Once we started seeing each other romantically, it wasn’t even a question. 

“Then when I was going into my junior year, Ryan was bringing in so much money, he said it was stupid that we were still living in a tiny dorm, so he bought a condo downtown. Then we met Jon and sold the condo and bought the house. 

“And trust me,” Spencer added, “living in a dorm is not what the movies make it out to be. I mean, there are lots of parties and stuff, but I was already with Ryan, so it wasn’t like I wanted to be hooking up. And that many teenagers together? It smelled like shit and it was always loud.” 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said. “It doesn’t sound so bad. I’ve been living by myself since I was eighteen, and it gets lonely a lot. My friend Frank comes over a lot, but when I’m there by myself it’s so quiet.” 

“You didn’t live with your family?” Spencer asked. 

“No,” Brendon said, then made one of his awkward, obvious subject changes. “Wow. So you and Ryan have been together since you were, what, seventeen? That’s really awesome. I’m twenty-two, and I’ve never been on a date.” 

Spencer almost swerved off the road. “You’ve never.” He pulled into the parking lot and put the car in park before looking over at Brendon. “You’ve never been on a date?” he asked. Brendon shook his head. “Never kissed anyone?” Brendon shook his head again. 

Spencer didn’t know how to deal with that. He got out and grabbed his bag from the back. Brendon hurried after him. Campus got a little dead after two. Spencer never understood the logic, but most people scheduled their classes between eight and noon, then slept all day, partied all night, and woke up miserable and hung over. 

“You hungry?” Spencer asked. “We can grab a sandwich and take it to class.” 

Brendon spent twenty minutes looking over the selection of sodas and chips. “We only had Lays and Coke products,” he explained. 

“We’ll go by the grocery store on the way home,” Spencer said. “You can buy anything you want.” He needed to pick up groceries anyway. They’d been ordering takeout the past few nights since none of them could be bothered to do it. 

Brendon waited until they were outside the dining hall then grabbed Spencer in a tight hug. Spencer wasn’t so much used to people who weren’t Ryan or Jon touching him. He tensed for a second, but relaxed almost at once. Brendon’s arms were tight around his shoulders and his breath was hot on Spencer’s neck. Spencer let his arms come around Brendon’s waist, resting in the dip at the small of Brendon’s back, like it had been designed just for Spencer’s embrace. 

“What was that for?” Spencer asked, slightly stunned, when Brendon pulled back. 

Brendon smiled brilliantly. “Because I really like you, and you’re nice to me, and I think you need more hugs. You don’t smile as much as you should, because you have a really pretty smile.” He said it so casually and matter-of-factly, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, or artifice or sarcasm, that Spencer didn’t know how to react. He didn’t think anyone had ever rendered him speechless so much as Brendon had managed in the last twenty-four hours. 

“Come on,” Spencer said, fighting against a blush. “I’m going to be late for class.” 

Brendon went along happily, skipping a little on the path. “It’s so much easier to walk without snow,” he remarked absently as they went. 

* 

College was pretty cool. In Christmastown, there was only school through twelfth grade. After that, most of the jobs in Christmastown didn’t require a lot of special training. The toymakers, bakers and seamstresses were usually taught by their parents as children, but if someone decided to change professions when they were older, they just apprenticed. 

Brendon had always thought it would be so exciting to learn about the things he saw in movies. Glamorous things, like Marine Biology, or Physics, or Beauty Sciences. Okay. Maybe other people wouldn’t necessarily find them glamorous, but Brendon thought they sounded awesome. 

Spencer, it turned out, was studying Computer Engineering and Sociology, because he planned on working security at the casinos. “All the casinos are developing new software to detect cheating. It’s making traditional security obsolete,” he explained. 

“Like in Ocean’s 13, that Greco thing?” Brendon asked excitedly. 

Spencer bit his lip against a laugh. Brendon had never thought about such things before, but suddenly he considered what it would be like it if was _his_ lip between Spencer’s teeth. He made himself stop thinking about it right away, because Spencer was with _Ryan_. 

“The Greco thing is just Hollywood stuff,” Spencer said. “I mean, maybe _someday_. There are some neat things going on with biometrics. But no, there’s not anything like the Greco.” 

Spencer’s classes were really interesting, even if Brendon didn’t really understand the first one. It was Sociology of Gambling. Spencer had a laptop and tons of notes with a lot of terms Brendon had never heard of. Spencer kept making little notes to Brendon in a separate window and Brendon would write back on the notepad Spencer had given him. 

“It’s an upper level class,” Spencer said, when they left to cross campus for his other class. “Only majors take it.” 

The second class was even better. “I have to take an English class a quarter, because Ryan makes me,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. “Of course, he always has to make sure he approves of the professor beforehand. But seriously, I think I could get a minor in English by now.” 

The class was Victorian literature, and they were discussing a Charles Dickens novel. In Christmastown, the only Charles Dickens book they had was _A Christmas Carol_. This one, _Great Expectations_ , sounded a lot more interesting. Spencer let Brendon look at his copy and Brendon spent most of the class reading the first few chapters and trying to listen to the discussion at the same time. 

Brendon didn’t want to freak Spencer out by saying more about Christmastown, but he really wanted to read more. “Do you have more books at home?” he asked. 

Spencer laughed. “Are you serious? Ryan turned the walk-in closet in the master bedroom into a fucking library. Jon and I have to put all our clothes in the music room closet. I bet if you ask him when we get home, Ryan will give you a pile higher than you of books you _have to read_.” 

Brendon personally thought that sounded like the best thing ever. After going to the grocery store, of course. The grocery store was bigger than every store in Christmastown put together. There were more fruits than Brendon had known existed and an entire aisle of nothing but sodas and chips. He spent twenty minutes just looking at all the different kinds of alcohol because there were _two aisles_ of it. Pete and Frank would just die. 

He was a little hesitant to put anything in the cart, since he didn’t have money, but Spencer just kept rolling his eyes and grabbing the things he saw Brendon looking at. Finally, he said, “We have the money, Brendon, and we’ll eat this stuff too, okay?” 

“I could make you dinner,” Brendon offered. “I only really know how to make is turkey, though. It’ll be really yummy. I can make the stuffing, and mashed potatoes, and asparagus, and hot rolls, and everything.” 

Spencer eyed him strangely. “Did you, like, grow up at the North Pole, or something?” he asked. 

Brendon flushed and said, “Never mind.” Ryan had seemed upset when Brendon had told him he was from the North Pole. Maybe it was considered bad here. Maybe Spencer and Ryan and Jon hated Christmas as much as Brendon did, and he couldn’t really fault them. 

Spencer grabbed some steak. “I’ll teach you how to make stir fry, okay? It’s easy.” 

Stir fry, it turned out, was really easy. The wok was super cool, too. Brendon liked the way the meat sizzled in the bottom and the way the kitchen filled with the scent. The dogs kept dancing around their feet, begging, and the cats kept trying to jump on the counter for a closer look. 

Spencer opened a bottle of red wine and poured them each a glass while they cooked. By the time dinner was ready, Brendon was feeling pleasantly light-headed. Also, wine was way better than beer or rum. 

“This is Ryan’s favourite,” Spencer explained, as they sat the kitchen table for dinner. 

There was a second where Spencer was putting down a plate and Brendon was laying out the silverware for the same setting, when Spencer sort of swayed closer to Brendon, his eyes drooping. It reminded Brendon, for some reason, of the way Jon had leaned into him in the bathroom, especially when Spencer jerked back violently. Brendon hoped he wasn’t doing something to upset them. 

Spencer was silent after that, finishing up the sauce for the food, and Brendon just felt sick to his stomach and miserable. Everything had seemed okay all day. He seriously didn’t know how to be any better at this. 

*

Ryan didn’t go to _The Mansion_ , because he knew if they wanted to find him, that’s the first place they’d go. Instead, he went to the office that was kept for him on campus. He rarely ever went there. He liked his office at the house, better, and he preferred working at _The Mansion_. 

The only time he spent in the office was right before and after his classes, because the University told him he had to provide office hours for his students, and no, they didn’t care that he was an _artiste._ At least he kept a bottle of vodka in his desk. No one batted an eye over that, anyway. 

He grabbed his mail—invitations to guest lecture, awards ceremonies, requests for letters of recommendation. Sometimes it made Ryan feel really awkward, when he was writing letters of recommendation for people who were older than him. He had a class with two twenty-five year olds and a thirty-one year old, and he didn’t think they realised he was younger. 

Not that Ryan didn’t _like_ being young, rich and famous. Just. Sometimes it felt weird. Wrong. Like it had happened too fast, and Ryan had never wanted to be famous for his poetry. He’d wanted to be famous for his music. He’d take it how he could get it, he supposed, even though he sometimes felt like a pretentious sell-out. 

There was a deadline for his anthology coming up. His editor kept leaving vaguely threatening text messages and voice mails, and soon she was going to do that creepy thing where she camped out on his front porch until Jon let her in, and then she’d hover over Ryan’s shoulder. And, okay, that _didn’t_ help him be more productive. It just mostly pissed him off. 

The truth was, Ryan was writing a _lot_. Had been since he’d locked himself in the study that morning. He just wasn’t sure it was anything he wanted anyone else to see. Things about red lips and big brown eyes and a voice like honey, and all the things Ryan wanted to do with it. He couldn’t even be bothered to be vague about it. It was all blatant sexuality. 

His editor would probably love it. It went back to a lot of the dark, angsty stuff that had got Ryan famous in the first place. She’d been beside herself when Jon had come along and suddenly all Ryan’s stuff was happy and content. It had sold, too, so she had eventually stopped bothering him about it, but he knew she preferred the old stuff. He knew most people did. 

Jon and Spencer would read this and they’d know, and then where would Ryan be? Spencer and Ryan had fallen for Jon together, and it had just happened so easily. It had made so much sense. Spencer had barely seemed to tolerate Brendon. He wouldn’t understand the way Brendon made Ryan feel. 

Even if he could, somehow, make Jon and Spencer understand, the fact remained that Ryan didn’t want to turn these over for publication. They weren’t poetry, in his mind. He heard them with music, and with Brendon’s voice singing them. And maybe that was strange, that he thought about Brendon singing the words written about him, but it felt intimate and sexy, and god, Ryan shouldn’t get turned on just thinking about it. 

His phone vibrated against his leg. He hadn’t actually turned it off, and the guys probably knew that. But he wasn’t going to respond, either. He didn’t know what to say to them. He flipped the phone open and saw the text was from Jon. 

_I love you,_ it said. _Trust me enough to know that won’t change_. 

It made Ryan feel a little lighter. Jon would probably understand. He wouldn’t judge Ryan for it. But Ryan couldn’t tell _just_ Jon. He’d have to tell Spencer too. Spencer who’d known him forever, who’d see it wasn’t just a sexual thing with Brendon. And then what? Jon said to trust him, and Ryan _did_. He trusted Spencer, too. But he didn’t want to betray their trust in him, which he’d already sort of done without their knowing. 

Ryan slammed his laptop shut in disgust. He wasn’t that ridiculous emo kid anymore. He’d never wanted to be, and Spencer and Jon had made him so much better than that. They made him happy and full. He wasn’t going to pull this shit. 

It was just after four. Spencer would be in the building, just a few floors below, for his class. Ryan could probably talk to him for a few minutes before class. He was drunk, which probably wasn’t the best way to do this, but he _needed_ to. 

The door was open and Spencer was sitting towards the front of the class. Someone was resting their head on his shoulder and Spencer was _smiling_ at them. Like, his special smile. The smile only for Jon and Ryan. 

It was irrational, and totally unfair, Ryan knew, to get jealous, but he couldn’t help it. Spencer ruffled the guy’s hair and Ryan was just about ready to storm in and make a fucking scene. Then the head lifted and it was Brendon, grinning up at Spencer, and…

_Oh_. 

Ryan fumbled his phone out of his pocket and wandered away from the door, selecting Jon’s name. 

“Hey, babe,” Jon said. Ryan loved it when Jon called him babe, even if he usually bitched about it. “You okay?” 

“I’m drunk,” Ryan said. “Are you done with your job?” 

“Where are you at?” Jon asked. 

“Campus,” Ryan said. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch, Jon.” 

“I’ll be there in ten. You can apologise then,” Jon said. 

By the time Ryan went back to his office, packed up his stuff, and got back downstairs, Jon was already waiting out front. Ryan didn’t want to think about how many traffic laws he must have broken. 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said again, when he slid into the passenger seat. He leaned across the gear shift and met Jon’s mouth. 

Jon sank his hand in Ryan’s hair and opened his mouth over Ryan’s, slow and hungry. It made Ryan’s scalp tingle and burn with want. “Wanna tell me what’s up?” Jon asked, pulling back just a little. His mouth brushed Ryan’s as he spoke, his breath was warm. 

“I think,” Ryan said, cautiously. He didn’t want to do this wrong because he was drunk. “I think Brendon might be right.” 

Jon frowned politely, kissed him again, close-mouthed and quick. “Right about what?” 

“I think,” Ryan said and took a deep breath, plunging on, “I think we could fit four people in our bed.” 

Ryan breathed in, waiting, and it seemed like an eternity passed before Jon’s grin went sharp and wicked in a way that went straight to Ryan’s dick. “We should at least give it a try,” he murmured, before kissing Ryan again. 

They ended up parking in the lot behind the construction site for the future new auditorium. Construction was on hold for a couple weeks because of some problem with paperwork and no one was around, but the exhibitionist in Ryan was still excited. 

Jon leaned his seat back and Ryan’s legs got a little cramped but then Jon shoved inside with nothing but his leaking precome to ease the way and Ryan arched his back into it, because this was how he loved it, desperate and hot and a little painful. 

“I’ll always love you, Ryan,” Jon told him, when they’d finished. He kissed the place on Ryan’s throat that he’d bitten when he’d come. “You can’t do anything that’ll make me stop, okay?” 

Ryan hugged him tight, nodded his head against Jon’s chest. Not for the first time, he wondered what he’d ever done right to get Spencer _and_ Jon. They cleaned themselves up the best they could and Jon drove to his studio to drop off some prints. 

On the way, Ryan read to him the poetry he’d been writing, telling him his ideas. “You should show those to Spencer, too,” Jon said. “We could come up with some arrangements.” 

“Why did I think this wouldn’t work?” Ryan asked, laying his head on Jon’s shoulder. 

Jon shifted his grip on the wheel with one hand and threw the other arm around Ryan’s back, pulling him close. “Because you’re an idiot,” he said fondly, and kissed Ryan on the crown of his head. 

*

The house smelled like peanut butter and delicious when they got home. Ryan’s whole face lit up and when Spencer met them in the living room, Ryan wrapped Spencer up in his arms and kissed him several times in quick succession. “I love you, Spencer,” he said fervently. 

Spencer laughed and hugged him back. “You better?” 

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you later.” 

Spencer caught Jon by the front of his shirt and pulled him into the hug. “I guess I should thank you?” Ryan made a huffy noise of protest and Jon laughed into the kiss Spencer was giving him. 

“He told me himself,” Jon said in Ryan’s defence. Then he made a point to squish Ryan between them as he kissed Spencer again. 

“Oh, sorry!” Brendon said and they broke apart in time to see him disappear back into the kitchen. 

“Well, shit,” Spencer said. “I didn’t…Did you guys tell him about us? I mentioned me and Ryan, but I…”

“Yeah, like, how was I supposed to broach that subject,” Jon asked, rolling his eyes. Brendon had taken the sleeping in one bed thing pretty well, but Jon got the impression that Brendon hadn’t really understood. 

They went into the kitchen together and Brendon was busying himself at the stove. “I really didn’t mean to walk in on you,” he said, not looking at them. “The sauce was starting to bubble, and you said that was when it was done, and I thought. I didn’t mean to just walk in, though. I mean, I didn’t know. Of course, it makes sense that if you and Ryan are a couple, Spencer, you wouldn’t just want Jon in your bed unless he was. Well.” He made a waving gesture with his hand. “You know. Too.” 

Spencer and Ryan both looked at Jon, like he was supposed to know what to do here. “Does it bother you, Brendon?” he asked. 

Brendon looked up then, eyes wide. “Bother? No. I mean, I didn’t know that people… _did_ that. Three people. But you all.” He stopped and frowned down at the stove. “You all love each other. That’s really awesome. You’re really lucky. And I’m sorry I came in like that.” 

“Seriously, Brendon,” Spencer snapped. He went over to take the sauce from the stove and set it on the table with the rest of the food. “What have I said about all the apologising? You didn’t do anything wrong. And if you’re going to be staying with us, you’re probably going to see that every now and then. If it bothers you, we’ll try to keep it in our room.” 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Brendon said quickly. “Pete and Patrick kiss in front of me sometimes. I just. Most people like to keep it private.” 

“We’re sorry,” Ryan said. He put a hand gently on Brendon’s shoulder, like he was worried it might scare Brendon away. But Brendon’s back lost some of its tension. “Would you prefer we didn’t?” 

“It’s okay,” Brendon said, more steadily. “I guess I was just surprised. People don’t, where I’m fro—It’s okay.” Jon was going to have to figure out what was up with the new freezing up whenever Brendon started to talk about home. 

Once they sat down to dinner, a lot of the weirdness went away. Spencer mentioned taking Brendon with him to classes, which got Brendon talking excitedly about the book he’d been reading in Spencer’s class. Of course, that led to Ryan grilling Brendon on all his favourite books, and being horrified by the lack of choice Brendon had been given in school. He began compiling a list of all the things Brendon had to read, and Jon noticed Brendon and Spencer share a secret smirk. 

They had a bunch of Brendon’s left-over cookies for dessert and sat together on the back porch passing around bottles of wine. Brendon was excited to hear them tell stories of their childhood and work, though he wasn’t really big on sharing back. Jon could tell from Ryan’s frown that he was noticing the same thing. 

When they went in for bed, Brendon hugged them all and went to his room. “That was a little awkward,” Spencer said, when he and Jon were in bed, waiting for Ryan to join them. Ryan had the most ridiculous bedtime beauty regime, with lots of different scented lotions and scrubs and astringents. 

“He’d have found out sooner or later,” Jon said reasonably. “We probably should have just told him.” 

“Speaking of telling people things,” Spencer said. 

Ryan came in from the bathroom, stripping out of his shirt and flinging it at Spencer’s face. He kicked off his boxers and climbed up the bed, straddling Spencer’s lap and leaning over to kiss him. It was a tease of a kiss that had Spencer arching up for more when Ryan pulled back. Jon sort of loved to watch them together. He got a flash of what it might be like to watch them with Brendon, touching each other while Spencer and Ryan made love. 

Jon rolled closer, wove his fingers through Ryan’s hair and tugged a little roughly. “Tell him,” he whispered against the mark he’d left on Ryan’s neck earlier. 

“I, uh,” Ryan panted a little, rolling his hips against Spencer’s. “I thought maybe there might be, uh. Room for one more, so to speak, in this relationship.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened and his fingers went tight on Ryan’s hips. “You thought so?” His voice was low and growly and it made Ryan and Jon both groan. “What do you think about this?” Spencer asked of Jon. 

Jon lay down beside Spencer, lips brushing Spencer’s ear as he spoke. He whispered all the things he’d thought of doing to Brendon, the things he’d imagined watching Spencer and Ryan do to him. 

It was good. It was always good. But it was first time it felt like there might be something missing. 

* 

After a couple days, things settled into a kind of comfortable rhythm. Jon had mostly convinced Brendon that he didn’t have to keep doing chores around the house, which meant that instead of doing laundry and dishes _and_ making dinner, he’d just do one or another. 

There was always something for Brendon to do. Some days he went with Jon, watching photo shoots, helping out at weddings, or hanging out at the studio where Jon was teaching him how to develop things and letting him play around in the darkroom. Other days he’d go with Spencer, either to school, or to the casino when Spencer had to work. Spencer got discounts to all kinds of shows and Brendon could wander the strip while Spencer worked. He found he liked it more when he wasn’t stressed out and knew he had a place to go home to. 

And some days, Ryan would take him. Most of the time they just went to _The Mansion_ , where Brendon’s performances were becoming famous enough that regulars were coming just to see Brendon sing. A few times, though, Ryan dragged Brendon with him to his classes so Brendon could see what they were like when they were taught “for real.” 

Once they left Brendon alone in the house all day. They understood their mistake when they came home to find he’d cleaned the house from top to bottom, organised their closets by colour, polished all of Spencer’s shoes, baked a five course dinner and groomed all the pets. 

Brendon was definitely more comfortable around them, though, in lots of different little ways. Spencer had gone about how he was half-convinced Brendon was a saint, or something, but once Brendon had passed a few days, he dropped some of the fake politeness in his tone and cussed with the accuracy of someone who’d been doing it for a while. 

It was just one of his many contradictions that confused the hell out of the others. He seemed strangely innocent about a lot of things that most people were exposed to on a regular basis, but on other things—alcohol and obscenities, for example—he was quite the expert. 

He became freer with physical affection, too. That was maybe one of the best things, because Brendon was an excellent cuddler. When there was no room left on the couch, he’d just lay himself out over all of them. When they went to the movies the first free night they all had together, Brendon clung tight to Jon and Ryan’s hands. 

Brendon was forever laying his head on their shoulders or worming under their arms or just standing far closer to them than was necessary. They used whatever excuses they could come up with to touch him, too, offering to apply his sunscreen or brushing food from around his lips. They let their hugs linger, let their kisses fall closer and closer to his mouth. 

He didn’t seem to get it, though. Every night when they went to bed he’d give them all hugs. It was just kind of hard to pull away when Jon wanted to kiss up the line of Brendon’s throat, maybe nibble on his earlobe. When Spencer wanted to get his hands on the swell of Brendon’s ass and jerk him close. When Ryan wanted to see what kind of sounds Brendon would make. 

But Brendon always pulled away go into his own bedroom. He didn’t know that they made love talking about him, thinking about all the ways he could fit. 

Brendon had his own trouble falling asleep at night. His mind never seemed to stop racing, and nothing made any sense. He could swear he heard noises coming from the other room. His body got excited thinking about the three of them together and he felt ashamed of it. 

It was really unfair, though. Brendon had never much thought about finding someone before. Christmastown was pretty old-fashioned about sex and dating. You weren’t supposed to do it until you were married and people who did were quiet about it. Pete and Patrick were the scandalous exception. 

The only people in Christmastown that Brendon could imagine spending the rest of his life with were Greta and Frank, but he didn’t want to kiss either of them. He found himself wondering about what he and Frank had been to each other. He’d never thought of Frank romantically, but here, in the outside world, sharing your bed seemed a lot more serious. Still it felt pretty strange to go from not having any interest in anyone to having interest in three someones. Three someones who were already _in_ a relationship. 

Brendon wasn’t supposed to be greedy. Living in Christmastown made it difficult to be greedy. They were supposed to be an example for people all over the world. But he’d been unhappy there, wanted something more, something else. And now that he got his way, now he was being greedy again. 

But Jon had the sweetest eyes Brendon had ever seen, and he was so _nice_ , and Brendon thought that kissing him might be like finally coming home and belonging. And Spencer’s smile was, just, it was like the sun on the snow, almost too dazzling to look at, and Brendon just wanted to put his hands on Spencer’s soft looking hips and taste that smile. And Brendon wanted to know the feel of Ryan’s long fingers on his skin, of his full lips. 

It wasn’t exactly what any of them wanted, but Ryan, Jon and Spencer would prefer to have Brendon how they could, than to scare him away by trying to get more. And Brendon, now that he’d found a place to call home, and friends, was so, so happy to be away from Christmastown. He got to sing and dance whenever he wanted, and one of the guys at _The Mansion_ said he knew a guy who had a beauty school where Brendon could enrol in the New Year. 

The point was, they were happy, even if it wasn’t perfect. Time passed so quickly that before Brendon knew it, November was coming to an end, and he had his very first Thanksgiving. He’d heard about it, of course, but experiencing it was better. 

They all went to Spencer’s family’s house. Brendon hadn’t known that parents could be like Spencer’s, so warm and welcoming and open-minded. Like, they _knew_ about Spencer and Jon and Ryan and still loved them all. They treated Brendon like they loved him, too, even though they’d just met. 

Right after Thanksgiving the Christmas decorations started going up all over the place. Maybe Brendon didn’t talk about Christmas anymore, but the others had got the point when he’d first arrived. 

Though they had ornaments and decorations above the garage, they didn’t bring them down. They made sure they always switched the channel if something Christmasy came on the television, and when _The Mansion_ started its holiday review, Ryan and Brendon started spending more time at home while Spencer and Jon were out. 

It was all perfect. 

And then the doorbell rang. 

* 

“Brendon,” Ryan said, eyeing the guy on his doorstep. “There’s someone here to see you.” The guy didn’t have to say as much. He was wearing something vaguely resembling the elf costume Brendon had been wearing when he’d first shown up, only with far more modifications. 

His hair was dyed a dark black with large stripe of green falling over his face, and all his facial piercings were red and green candy striped. He grinned brightly at Ryan though, and despite the fact that he was covered in scary looking tattoos, his smile made him look sweet. 

“Frank!” Brendon squealed, when he came into the hallway. He pushed past Ryan and flung himself at Frank, then Brendon and Frank proceeded to _climb_ each other, all limbs even as short as they were. 

“Ryan,” Brendon exclaimed. “Ryan, this is Frank!” His voice was muffled, face buried somewhere in Frank’s stomach. 

“So I see,” Ryan said tightly. He didn’t _want_ to be a pissy bitch, but whenever they could get Brendon to talk about home these days, it was usually about Pete, Patrick, Greta or Frank, and out of all of them, Frank got mentioned, by far, the most. 

“Frank,” Brendon said, disentangling himself somewhat, but leaving his arms laying casually over Frank’s shoulders. Ryan couldn’t help noticing how close their faces were together. “Frank, what are you doing here? How did you find me?” 

“Dude, you wouldn’t believe. SC is so pissed about you taking off. And your parents. And Greta said she’s going to shank you for leaving her alone at the bakery, but she wants you to be happy, so she’ll do it some place non-lethal.” Frank could talk almost as quickly as Brendon, which Ryan found mildly impressive. 

“Can Frank come in?” Brendon asked Ryan. 

Ryan rolled his eyes and swung the door open further. “It’s your place, too, Brendon,” he said, “you don’t have to ask.” 

Brendon bit his lip like he still did sometimes, when he was worried he was overstepping his bounds. He grabbed Frank’s hand and pulled him inside. Ryan felt a little out of his depth as the two of them began to talk. It was like they were using some weird code, phrases that didn’t make sense, and names of people Ryan didn’t know. 

He excused himself into the kitchen on the pretence of making some coffee, then just stood there why it brewed. Brendon had mentioned Frank a million times, it seemed, and he’d never seemed real. Ryan hadn’t known what to take as fact out of all the things Brendon had said. And Frank and Brendon seemed awfully close. 

The garage door rumbled, meaning Jon and Spencer were home from their grocery run. Ryan forced his face into something resembling a smile and went back into the living room with the coffee, just in time to meet Jon and Spencer coming in the house. 

“Hey, guys,” Jon said slowly, when his eyes fell on Frank. Spencer’s lips twisted in displeasure, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Oh, let me help,” Brendon said, starting to get up. 

Ryan laid a hand on his shoulder, coaxing him back down. “It’s alright. Stay with your friend. I’ll help them.” 

As soon as they were all together in the kitchen, Spencer dropped his bags and put his hands on his hips. “Who’s that? What the hell is going on?” 

“It’s Frank, I guess,” Ryan said, trying desperately to sound unconcerned and nonchalant about it. It didn’t come across, he didn’t think. Jon put down his own bags and hugged Ryan to him. “He said that everyone was angry about Brendon leaving. It sounded like he wants Brendon to go home.” 

“Oh, hell no,” Spencer said quietly, and stormed back into the living room. 

Jon and Ryan hurried after him, just in time to hear Brendon saying, “Frank, I’m glad you came. I’m so glad to see you.” He punctuated this with another tight hug. “But I’m not going back.” 

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not leaving until you come home,” Frank said, matter-of-fact, and Spencer tensed again. 

Brendon just smiled beatifically. “Frank. I love you. I’m _not_ going back.” 

Frank imitated Brendon’s expression with startling accuracy. “And I’m not leaving until you do,” he said. 

“Then you better find some place to stay,” Brendon said tightly. “Because you’ll be here a while.” 

“He can stay here!” Ryan blurted out quickly. Spencer stepped hard on his foot and Jon gave him a bewildered look. But it was just…if this Frank guy was serious, and he was going to stay around and try to convince Brendon to leave, Ryan wanted to be able to supervise. He didn’t like the idea of Brendon leaving the house to see Frank, and none of them knowing what was going on. 

Brendon looked at him with a bright. “Seriously?” 

Spencer gritted his teeth and forced a grin. “Of course,” he said, in a tone that promised Ryan pain. 

*

Jon was trying to stay positive about things. He could tell that Ryan was having some emo attack, and Spencer was seriously pissed, but Brendon had _said_ that Frank was his friend. He said he’d never even been on a date. There was no need to make crazy assumptions. 

Except all through dinner Frank and Brendon kept finishing each other’s sentences, talking about all the crazy things they’d got up to together. If Jon had been confused before, hearing Brendon talk about his life, he was even more so with Frank’s input. All he could figure is that they’d grown up somewhere in Alaska or Northern Canada, or something. 

Every story revolved around snow, or Christmastime activities. Jon knew that there were some cities that did weird, year-round Christmas theme parks, but he hadn’t thought that people ever _lived_ in them. 

They moved into the living room after dinner. “You know, Pete and Patrick thought you’d be back in a week,” Frank commented to Brendon. 

“I might have been,” he said. “But then Jon came to save me, and I got to know him and Spence and Ryan.” 

Frank gave them all a bright smile. “Thanks for taking care of my Bden for me,” he said, slinging a possessive arm around Brendon’s shoulders. 

“It’s really been our pleasure,” Ryan said in his bitch voice. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, and yawned. “I’ve been travelling all day. I’m so beat.” 

“It’s alright,” Spencer said, with his fake smile. “We have a spare bedroom upstairs. We can put down the air mattress.” 

“That’s okay,” Brendon said, getting up and offering Frank a hand. “You don’t have to bother with all that. Frank can sleep with me. I’ve missed cuddling. Come on, Frank, I’ll show you.” He led Frank to the stairs, the two of them grabbing and touching all the way. Jon tried to tell himself it was how friends touched. 

“Don’t freak out,” he told Ryan, laying close in bed. Spencer curled up on Ryan’s other side and they all just lay in silence for a long time, straining as if they might hear something from the other room. 

“If he’d wanted to cuddle, he could have cuddled with _us_ ,” Ryan burst out suddenly. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice soothing. 

“What if Brendon goes back with him?” Ryan asked. He sounded so small and lost. 

Jon wouldn’t even consider that a possibility. 

*

Frank fell asleep almost as soon as they were curled up together under the blanket. Frank had latched on around Brendon’s waist, leeching warmth. Frank got cold all the time. Brendon wouldn’t be surprised if Frank could be cold in the middle of a Las Vegas afternoon, standing in the sun. 

Brendon had to ask, because it had been bothering him now for weeks, so he just blurted it out, before Frank was gone completely, “Did you ever think that you and me were…together? Like…a couple?”

Frank cracked open an eye to give him a dubious look. “Dude. No. I’m saving myself for Gerard Way.” 

Brendon was a little disappointed at how quickly Frank drifted off after that, because he wanted to _talk_. He’d been keeping so many things bottled up inside because he _couldn’t_ tell Ryan and Spencer and Jon. He let it wait until the morning, when Frank woke before the rest of the house, no doubt still on his wacky North Pole work schedule. Around this time of year it got really crazy. 

“So,” Frank said conversationally, over hot chocolate in the kitchen. “Your friends didn’t seem so crazy about me.” 

Brendon shook his head. “That’s just the way they are. I didn’t think they liked me at first, and then I ended up living with them.” There were sounds upstairs, like someone moving. He didn’t know if they were awake or just stumbling blindly into the bathroom, but he didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing what he wanted to say. 

“You wanna take the dogs for a walk?” Brendon offered. 

“Oh my god, the dogs. I want to steal the fucking dogs. Why did no one tell me dogs were so awesome? I’m not going back to Christmastown,” Frank said sincerely. “I’m moving to New York, and I’m going to buy nineteen dogs. All different kinds.” 

Brendon felt his lips twisting into a familiar, indulgent grin. “So, is that a yes?” 

“Yes,” Frank said earnestly. “Yes, let’s take the dogs for a walk.” 

It was a little chilly outside, the sun having just recently risen. The weather had become far more comfortable for Brendon by mid-November. Frank, however, in a pair of jeans and a hoodie borrowed from Brendon’s closet, was shivering. Brendon rolled his eyes and wrapped Frank up in his arms, sharing his hoodie, too. They each held a dog in their far hands so they could cuddle close. 

“Frank,” Brendon murmured. “Frank, if I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh at me?” 

Frank looked at him from the corner of his eye and gave him a wry smirk. “Oh, you can’t open it with that and expect me _not_ to laugh.” 

Brendon tickled the closest thing to his hand, which turned out to be a hip. Frank squirmed against him. “I’m serious, Frank,” he said. 

“I’ll do my best,” Frank said sincerely. 

Brendon let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t even really sure how to explain it. It didn’t make all that much sense in his own mind. “Part of the reason. Well. A big part of the reason I don’t want to go back to Christmastown is that I’ve…fallen in love.” He mumbled the last words quietly and quickly, embarrassed. He and Frank had never talked about this sort of thing before. 

“You…” Frank asked, trailing off, looking questioningly at him. 

“I fell in love,” Brendon snapped. 

Frank’s eyes widened. “With one of them?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction of the house. 

“With all of them,” Brendon said miserably. It was best just to get this over with, instead of drawing it out. 

Frank did make a sound like laughter, but it was more surprised than derisive. “With all of them? How do you…Seriously?” Brendon didn’t answer. He made a lost sound, pressing his face in Frank’s neck. “Are you gonna pick one of them?” 

“I can’t,” Brendon said. “Frank, I wouldn’t want to pick just one, even if I could. I love all of them. But it’s more difficult than that. They’re all already together.” 

“They have lovers?” Frank asked. 

Brendon blushed. “They _are_ each other’s lovers,” he said. 

“All three of them?” Frank’s face was impressed, tinged with disbelief. “I didn’t know that happened in the real world.” 

“Jon said it doesn’t work out a lot of times,” Brendon said. “He said that a lot of times people are just doing it for the sex, or that one person might love another person more, and eventually it all falls apart. He says it’s really rare that it works like it does for them, and how lucky they are…If it’s so hard for three people, it would be impossible for four.” 

Frank didn’t say anything for a long time, tucking his chin on Brendon’s shoulder. It was comfortable, the way their hips bumped together as they walked, the tickle of Frank’s hair against Brendon’s cheek. But now more than ever, Brendon could see that they were just friends. Nothing about Frank gave Brendon even a fraction of the thrill that just being in the same room as Ryan or Jon or Spencer gave him. He was so fucked. 

They circled around the cul-de-sac, heading back toward the house. Just seeing it made Brendon happy, like he finally had a place he belonged. He thought Frank might consider him really pathetic. 

“They seem awfully protective of you,” Frank finally mused. 

Brendon laughed. “They think I’m retarded, or crazy,” he said. “Seriously, I made such a fool out of myself when I first got here, I’m lucky they didn’t call the police or try to have me committed, or something.” 

“I don’t think that’s it,” Frank said slowly. He stopped them at the front walk to the house. “Besides, if they can’t see how much of an awesome addition you’d be to their weird, poly-amorous, threesome thingie, they don’t even deserve you.” 

Brendon said, “Frank, you’re such a sweet-talker,” and kissed his cheek, just as the front door swung open. 

“Oh, there you are,” Ryan said. There was something strange about his voice. Brendon felt like he’d been caught doing something horrible, and quickly took his lips away from Frank’s skin. “We were worried,” he snapped, then disappeared into the house. 

Frank shot Brendon a dubious look, brow crooked. “They think _you’re_ crazy.” 

It didn’t get much better from there. Ryan had apparently gone straight up to his study and locked himself in. Eliot Smith music could be heard drifting below the frame whenever anyone passed. Brendon couldn’t help but think it was somehow his fault, especially since Jon kept looking at Brendon like he’d kicked one of the pets, or something. 

Spencer and Jon were being weird towards Frank, too, which Brendon didn’t get at all. Frank was really cool, and he liked the same sort of things as Brendon and them. When they’d first got back, Frank had noticed the game systems, but instead of offering to play with him like they had with Brendon, Spencer and Jon both said they were busy and disappeared. 

That night, Brendon had the most miserable time trying to fall asleep. His stomach kept flipping over in an uncomfortable way. Frank came in from a shower and flopped down next to Brendon, taking up a good portion of the double bed. “These are the people you fell in love with?” he asked. 

Brendon frowned and his stomach swooped again. “They aren’t usually like this,” he said stubbornly, and wouldn’t talk to Frank again until he fell asleep. 

*

Spencer had planned on waiting things out. He knew, rationally, if Brendon wanted to leave they couldn’t stop him. But Spencer sometimes had trouble being rational about things he loved. 

Ryan was being a stubborn idiot, locking himself away and adopting an unaffected attitude. If Brendon wanted to leave, he said, Ryan didn’t care. Jon, meanwhile, was trying his best to get to know Frank. He said it was important that no matter what happened, Brendon stayed their friend. 

It wasn’t that Spencer disagreed with Jon. It was just he’d prefer Brendon with them. He’d prefer Brendon was more than a friend. 

The second day of Frank’s stay, Spencer went into the kitchen to find Brendon alone for the first time since Frank had arrived. Spencer had meant to be patient, but Brendon smiled sleepily at him. He looked beautiful, even with his hair sticking up all over and sleep in his eyes. 

“Hey,” Brendon greeted. “Frank demanded coffee. I made enough for everyone. Would you like some?” 

Spencer grunted his assent and Brendon turned to get down a cup. Spencer’s eyes followed the twist of Brendon’s spine, the way his shirt rose to bare the skin at his waist, so, so pale and soft-looking. 

“I thought I might take Frank into town today. He was saying he’d like to see the pirate ship at Treasure Island, and he wants to see _The Mansion_. Of course, he’ll probably give me all kinds of hell about getting up there in drag.” Brendon’s smile was sweetly lopsided. 

And Spencer was just _so tired_ of Frank. He didn’t care that it had been a day. He didn’t care that his patience was obviously nonexistent. This was _Brendon_. Spencer took the mug from him and sat it on the island counter. Brendon’s eyes tracked the movement and he frowned. 

“Is something wrong with—” Spencer stepped into Brendon’s space and Brendon’s voice trailed off, breath catching in his throat. The sound made the skin on the back of Spencer’s neck prickle. His hand caught Brendon’s chin and he brought their lips together before he could second-guess it. 

Brendon made a soft sound of surprise and his hand came up between them, resting lightly on Spencer’s chest. For a second, Spencer thought Brendon was going to push him away. But Brendon’s fingers brushed lightly over the bare skin and he made another sound, like abandon. His other hand came up and they skated down Spencer’s skin, anchoring on his hips, clinging. 

Spencer slid his fingers through Brendon’s hair, tugged gently to tilt his head at a better angle. Brendon’s lips were soft and full, and when Spencer coaxed them open with his tongue, Brendon gave in easily, parting them with a sigh. 

Spencer wasn’t, necessarily, a big romantic. He could make gestures, when the moment took him, and he was happy to indulge Jon and Ryan’s romantic sides. But he was more about the physical. He thought it said a lot more than flowers and words could. And yet. This kiss was all the ridiculous, flowery things poetry said it was. Spencer felt like he was _floating_ , and all along his bare skin he felt hotcold tingles of want, that spread like wetness down his spine. 

“Who the fuck turned up the air conditioner in the middle of th—” The kitchen door banged open and Ryan stopped mid-sentence. 

Brendon jerked back as if burnt and it took the sudden, jarring force of his feet hitting the floor from several feet in the air for Spencer to realise that he _had_ been floating. A fine layer of snow had fallen over the kitchen and flakes were swirling in the air. 

“Brendon, what…?” Spencer asked, holding out a hand to catch the snow. Ryan just stood there staring, tongue coming out to lick at his lips, maybe wanting to taste Brendon himself. Maybe wanting to taste Brendon on Spencer. 

“I’m—” Brendon looked back and forth between the two of them, feet still hovering a few inches above ground, and Spencer wasn’t quite sure how to deal with that, yet. “I’m so sorry,” Brendon said. “Ryan, I’m so sorry. Spencer.” Brendon stopped and shook his head. He fell the last few inches to the ground and ran out of the kitchen. 

Ryan looked around the kitchen with an expression of disbelief. “There’s snow,” he said dully. 

“Is there a reason why—” Jon began, as he came into the room, then stopped. “Why the kitchen is covered in snow?” 

Spencer pushed past them both into the living room in time to see Brendon hurrying down the stairs, dragging a reluctant Frank after him. “But I actually _like_ it here,” Frank was saying. 

“Frank!” Brendon wailed, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears. And Spencer hadn’t thought he’d been wrong, hadn’t thought his kiss would make Brendon this upset. 

“Okay, okay,” Frank said gently. “Okay.” 

“Wait,” Ryan said. “Brendon, what…”

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said again, refusing to look in their direction. “I’m so sorry.” 

Frank gave them a helpless look and let himself be dragged down the hall. “Do something,” Ryan hissed at Spencer. “Brendon,” he shouted, running down the hall after them. 

Jon swallowed hard. “What the hell happened?” he asked Spencer, voice tight and angry and hurt. 

“I think I fucked up,” Spencer said. 

*

“People just don’t disappear off doorsteps, Ryan,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice even and reasonable. 

“They don’t float and make it snow in the kitchen, either. They don’t show up in the middle of the desert saying they rode in on a reindeer. They don’t get confused about normal shit like dogs and swimming pools and talk about hating Christmas with a fiery passion, Jon,” Ryan snapped back, volume rising with each word. 

“So what are you suggesting, then?” Jon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Maybe he wasn’t crazy,” Ryan said softly. “Maybe he was…”

“If you say…I swear to god,” Jon said, “if you say…”

“Maybe _he was_ ,” Ryan said. “You didn’t see it, Jon. Spencer and Brendon were _fucking floating_ , okay. Even if you can find some weird way to explain sudden Las Vegas snowfall limited to our _kitchen_ , I’d like to hear you explain the floating.” 

Jon figured that they were both ignoring the easiest target, the most obviously responsible for the whole mess, because Spencer looked so fucking miserable. “I wish you two would stop it,” Spencer interrupted. “Jon, you sound like me. I’m not going to. Don’t let this fuck us up, okay?” 

Ryan sort of deflated at that, going to curl up in Spencer’s lap. His arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck and drew him close. Jon sat beside them, fitting around and between them, until they were just a tangle of limbs and hot breath. Spencer’s eyes were wide and damp looking and Ryan’s eyes were closed, but his body shook every once in a while. 

“Maybe he just needed a little while,” Jon suggested. 

“Maybe he appeared out of nowhere,” Ryan said. “And now he’s gone back there.” 

*

They’d had a life before Brendon. It just hadn’t seemed so _drab_. 

They fell back into their routine. Christmas was coming fast, which meant lots of jobs for Jon. Spencer was out of classes for winter break and picked up extra shifts at the casino just to keep himself busy. Ryan avoided _The Mansion_ like the plague and threw himself into his work. He turned in his newest work to his editor only three days late and she gushed on and on how it was so much more like his older work, and just what she’d been hoping for. 

Brendon had left some of his things behind, in his rush to leave. Ryan had gone into the guest room two nights after Brendon left and come back with a strange looking cell phone. None of them had seen him with it, but then Jon brought up the strange number on his caller ID from the first night. 

The background picture was of Brendon, Frank, and two other men, faces smooshed together, making ridiculous expressions, all wearing matching elf costumes. Ryan smiled for the first time all day, and Spencer felt something in him relax. He wanted Brendon back, but they would be okay without him, too. Eventually. 

They crowded together on the couch, looking at the phone together. The date on the display was different from most, and seemed to be a countdown to Christmas, complete with seconds ticking off. 

There were none of the regular tools—or, well, there were, but they were different. The calculator had all these really specific choices about numbers of naughty acts balanced against numbers of nice acts, and the necessary number of reindeers in relation to the relative weight of gifts. 

The phonebook had a few specific names, all ones they’d heard before—Frank, Greta, Pete, Patrick, and one for Mom and Dad. Beyond that, though, they were all generic names for businesses—The Bakery, The Toy Shop, The Ice Rink, The Reindeer Stable, and so on. It seemed an awful lot of work for some hoax. 

And then there were the pictures. They all agreed that reading his text messages was too weird and stalkery, but pictures were okay. They were mostly of Brendon and the other guys from the background picture, plus a pretty, tiny girl with long blonde hair. 

Whether outside playing in the snow, skiing or ice-skating, or indoors baking cookies, playing music or just striking stupid poses, the setting for each was like something out of one of those stop-action claymation Christmas movies from the seventies, set in the North Pole. 

Spencer said, “I kept teasing him about it, and treating him like he was crazy, and he just stopped talking about it.” 

“We all were wrong,” Ryan said. 

When Brendon had been gone a week, Ryan came down stairs with a long, hand-written letter. Jon and Spencer were playing a half-hearted game of Smash Bros. and Ryan laid the sheet between them. “You can call me crazy,” he said, “but I think Brendon’s worth being called crazy.” 

They didn’t call him crazy, though. Spencer might have thought himself crazy, when he went online to look up an address for Santa Claus, and they made Jon be the one to actually go to the post office and mail it, because he looked cuddly, and he had a soft, unassuming smile that made it difficult for people to tease him. 

*

Brendon knew he was annoying everyone around him, but he couldn’t help it. His mother gave him a forty-five minute lecture on how unattractive moping was, and how _unChristmaslike_ and how none of the nice elfettes were going to want to spend any time around him when he had such a sour look on his face. 

Brendon had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her he had _no interest_ at all in female elves, and also, elfette was totally an outdated term and marginalised women. According to Frank. Sometimes, Brendon thought Frank was a little _too_ into My Chemical Romance and spouting things their lead singer said, but Brendon mostly agreed. 

At the bakery, Greta had banned Brendon from using the oven. He’d been relegated instead to decorating. Brendon had so much guilt, coming from so many directions, that he really _tried_ to do a good job. The decorations still came out far inferior to his usual standards. 

“This is pathetic,” Pete said to him, after week one. That wasn’t really helpful. 

“I can take care of this myself,” Greta said to him at the end of week two, which wasn’t at _all_ true, because it was eleven days before Christmas and things would only get busier and busier at the bakery. 

Patrick came over to keep him company in the middle of week three. You weren’t supposed to be alone at Christmastime, but it was always Christmastime in Christmastown, and Brendon had always felt sort of alone, even with all of his friends. 

Usually, Patrick wasn’t as free with his cuddles as Pete or Frank, but he pulled Brendon into a hug and let Brendon say nothing for _hours_. He made Brendon hot chocolate and played music with him and they watched old movies that had nothing to do with Christmas. 

Then Patrick said, “What if you’re wrong? What if Ryan wasn’t mad about seeing you? What if Spencer was just the first one to get to you?” 

Not a few times over the past few weeks, Brendon had regretted telling his friends what had happened. He sighed. “Even if that was true, which I’m not saying it is. But even if…they kept getting freaked out when I’d talk about stuff from Christmastown. I made it snow in their kitchen. I made Spencer float. They probably think I’m a freak.” 

It wasn’t like there was anything to be done, anyway. Santa had given Frank some of the special powder that let him travel really quickly on Christmas Eve, so that he could bring Brendon back. But Santa didn’t just give that powder out to anyone. And Sally had been so worn out after the last trip, Brendon wouldn’t want to try using her again. 

Not, he reminded Patrick, reminded Frank, reminded Pete, that he should go back. He didn’t want to see what sort of mess he’d left behind. He’d prefer to think that it was okay, that Ryan had forgiven Spencer for the kiss. Spencer could blame it on Brendon, with him gone. And Ryan and Spencer and Jon could stay together and be happy. Brendon didn’t want to think about how wrong things might have gone once he’d left. 

Early in the afternoon on Christmas eve, one of Santa’s helpers came to Brendon’s door. “You’ve been selected to do the North American run with Santa,” the helper said in a painfully chipper voice. 

It was a big honour to be selected to help Santa on one of his runs. No one in Brendon’s family since his great-grandfather had been chosen. Some elves fretted about it all their lives, keeping on their best behaviour year after year, in hope of making the cut. Brendon certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve it, and more over, he didn’t want it. 

All the same, he knew he had to. He was in so much trouble with his family and with Santa. He put on his best uniform and got out his fur-lined cape, and went to the stable just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. 

Santa barely acknowledged him. There were four other helpers selected, all of them older than Brendon, all of them eyeing him like they didn’t know why he was there. He didn’t blame them. Brendon’s story had been the talk of Christmastown from the day he’d disappeared, and it had only gotten more interesting since he’d gotten back. 

But you didn’t question Santa. 

Brendon was given the task of making sure everyone in the house stayed asleep. He was good at that, spreading his magic over each house like a blanket of silence. It was one of his favourite magics to use, made him feel content and comfortable in his own skin for the first time in months. 

He loved Spencer and Jon and Ryan, and he’d loved living with them, but it had been hard, holding back all the time. He had never wanted to render them unconscious, or anything, but sometimes he’d had to fight hard to keep himself from floating, or sparkling, or making it snow when it was hot, or he was happy. 

Things were so messed and weird these days, for Christmas. Brendon heard stories of what it had been like hundreds of years ago, when people had still believed in Santa. Now they had to operate under the radar. Even if the kids believed, the parents thought they knew better. The gifts had to be carefully chosen, something the parents had meant to buy, and forgot about, so that when the child opened it, it wasn’t questioned. 

Brendon had wondered, on many occasions, why Santa still did it. If no one believed in him, and it was so much work, why bother? Whenever he voiced it, his mother would snap at him that he didn’t understand the meaning of Christmas. He’d been trying to tell her the same thing for years.

They covered the east coast from north to south, then cut inwards. The time passed quickly, Santa’s powder making the night sky blur around them. Before Brendon knew it, they were closing in on Nevada, and his heart wouldn’t stop beating double-time in his chest. Particularly when the sled set down on the roof of a very familiar home. 

“What…we only bring gifts to children,” Brendon said softly. 

“And those who believe, and ask for something that it is within my power to give them,” Santa said. He handed Brendon an envelope. 

The address for the North Pole was scrawled across the front in Spencer’s sharp, slanted script. Brendon fumbled to get the letter out, unfolding to see Ryan’s handwriting sprawling over the page. 

_Dear Santa,_

My name is Ryan, and I’m twenty-three, and I suppose it might be unorthodox for someone of my age to be writing to you. I never have before in the past. My parents weren’t the sort to sugar coat reality. I ruined more than one little kid’s dreams in grade school, telling them you weren’t real. Since then, I doubt there is very little that I have done that might get me on your nice list. You don’t have any good reason to grant my wish. 

I’ve heard stories that you know things without being told. You probably already know who I am, and probably what I want. You know all the things I’ve done to be crossed off your list. But I’m not just writing on my behalf. I’m writing for Spencer, who was one of those kids whose dreams I crushed, and for Jon, who wrote you letters until he was ten. 

Whatever wrongs I’ve done by you, you can trust that Christmas has always been, for all of us, about love and family. Since the first Christmas I spent with Spencer’s family, when I finally understood why everyone else waited all year for it to come, until this past Christmas, our first with Jon, Christmas has never been about the gifts or any of the commercial bullshit. Perhaps in that way, without even believing in you, I was truer to the real spirit of Christmas than most. 

I’ve never asked for anything for Christmas—not from my parents, not from Spencer, or Jon, or you. I’ve never really wanted anything. Still, I suppose what I’m asking for is a lot. Please trust that I know what I’m doing. I’ll make up for any wrongs I did with the way I treat him. And please trust that Spencer and Jon and I will take good care of him. We don’t mind sharing; we’ve gotten quite good at it. 

So, Santa, we only have one item on our wish list this year, and I suppose it all hinges on what he wants, too. But if it is within your power, please bring us:

1\. Brendon Urie

Sincerely, 

Ryan Ross, Jon Walker, and Spencer Smith

Brendon refolded the letter, blinking furiously against the sudden moisture in his eyes. It had started snowing around them, and he knew he was to blame for it. “Can I?” he asked. 

Santa gave him an indulgent grin, and Brendon could vaguely remember being a small child and thinking that Santa was the best, nicest person in the world. “Why do you think I brought you?” Santa teased. “You certainly didn’t think you were deserving of being my helper?” 

Brendon laughed, felt something tight and painful in his chest loosen. He hugged Santa quickly. “Thank you so much,” he whispered. 

He waited until the sled had taken off again and disappeared into the night sky. There was no chimney on the rooftop, but Brendon preferred to use the door, anyway. He floated down in the shadows at the side of the house and walked to the front porch. It was after two in the morning, and all the lights were off in the house except a soft glow coming from the living room. 

Dozens of _what ifs_ were swirling through his mind, catching like the swirling snow around him. So many ways this could go wrong, could be different from what he hoped, wanted. He pressed the doorbell before he could wind himself up too much. There was the sound of several feet running down the hall and something crashing and then the door flung open. 

They were all there, framed in warm light, smiles tinged with disbelief and wonder. Ryan reached out and grabbed him by his cape, jerking him forward into a hug with a, “thank _god_.” Jon and Spencer wrapped their arms around them both, fitting them all together. 

“I think you mean _thank Santa_ ,” Jon said. Ryan and Spencer groaned and squirmed around Brendon to poke him. 

Brendon had to pull away, because he had to know. “You aren’t freaked about the snow and the floating and stuff?” he asked. 

Spencer quirked a grin at him and Jon laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s freaking awesome. I’m going to make you come on all my outdoor shoots in the summer,” Jon said. He put his arm around Brendon’s hips like it belonged there. “I want to know what else you can do.” 

Brendon blushed, cheeks burning, and looked at the floor. “And you’re not mad that I...” he paused and swallowed hard. “About me and Spencer?” He didn’t even know what answer he wanted to that. He didn’t know how it could be right. 

Ryan’s long fingers curled under Brendon’s chin, tipping his face up. “Only upset he got there first, maybe,” he said, smile gentle. “And that you left before I could have my turn.” He leaned in like he meant to kiss Brendon, but stopped a breath away, as if he was waiting. It only took Brendon a second to realise Ryan was waiting on him. He closed the space, sealing their lips together. 

Maybe it should have been strange, having Jon’s arm around him while he kissed Ryan, or feeling Spencer so close his breath stirred the hair on Brendon’s neck. It wasn’t, though. It felt right, like everything clicking into place. 

Ryan pulled back, catching Brendon’s lip between his teeth briefly before parting, and the sensation skipped through Brendon’s chest and stomach, and suddenly made standing so close to everyone potentially embarrassing. 

“No floating and snow for me?” Ryan teased, leaning his forehead against Brendon’s. 

“I think there’s a fucking blizzard outside, Ross, quit being a greedy bitch,” Jon said, and tugged on Brendon’s hip. “I want my turn.” Brendon felt his lips stretch in a grin and he turned happily for Jon’s kiss. His beard scratched pleasantly against Brendon’s cheek, and Jon deepened the kiss right from the start, tongue sliding hotly against Brendon’s.

“Maybe we just need to get him more excited,” Spencer suggested, in a tone of voice that made Brendon’s skin crawl in a really nice way. Then there were fingers on the fastening of his cape, undoing it, and a mouth at the back of his neck. 

They made their way into the living room, trading kisses back and forth. Brendon hadn’t gotten to see them kiss each other since the first time, when he’d accidentally walked in. He was reminded of how much he’d liked it. The slow, comfortable familiarity between Spencer and Ryan, the way Spencer seemed to surrender to Jon’s kiss, the easy playfulness between Ryan and Jon.

Brendon was greedy, though. He liked it best when at least one of them was kissing him—Spencer’s sweetness or Jon’s possessiveness, or Ryan’s slow burn of promise. He found himself twined between them and around them, like he had so many times before just cuddling, and he wondered how long he could have had this, how long he’d been oblivious to the fact that they felt the same way he did. 

Then slow kisses became more. Became open mouths sliding down Brendon’s neck, chasing skittering warmth down his spine. Slow touches above his clothing became teasing hands dipping just beneath. Ryan’s fingers brushed over Brendon’s nipple through his top and Brendon couldn’t stop a gasp. It only seemed to excite them more. 

Jon lay back, taking Brendon with him, and they were pressed together head to toe, but it was difficult to be embarrassed when he could feel Jon was just as hard as he was, and Spencer was slowly grinding his erection against Brendon’s hip. Ryan’s mouth was on Brendon’s pulse, making it hard to breathe or think. 

Ryan pulled back, giggling, asking, “Are you _glowing_?” running fascinated hands over Brendon’s skin, trying to catch the light.

Brendon sat up, half-straddling Jon’s thighs. He liked the way Jon’s hands came up to hold his hips automatically, whether to steady him, or out of possessiveness, or both. They were all watching him, tracking the way his limbs left little trails of light as he moved. He’d never thought of it as something special, when everyone could do it, but he liked the way they looked at him. 

He tugged at the hem of his uniform, hesitating only a little before pulling it up and over his head. Jon’s fingers tightened and he rolled his hips up, and Spencer and Ryan closed in on Brendon, touching all the new skin. Ryan dipped his head to press a line of kisses up Brendon’s spine and Spencer’s hands drifted lightly down his sides, resting just above Jon’s, just where Brendon’s tights started. Brendon understood what was being asked, and it was both terrifying and wonderfully exciting. 

“Can we…” he began, then stopped. “Can I maybe…” He was just too embarrassed to say it, but he grabbed at Spencer’s shirt, pulling it up. Spencer smiled, taking his shirt off and tossing it aside. 

Jon sat up, letting Brendon help him with his shirt, too, and said, “Maybe we can go upstairs.” His voice was low and full of suggestion and Brendon found himself rocking his hips against Jon’s and kissing him, hungry and desperate. He heard himself keening, wanting _so badly_ it burned. 

“Come on,” Ryan coaxed, taking Brendon’s hand. He led him upstairs. In the dim light of the bedside table, Ryan undressed. Ryan was too skinny, all beautiful, sharp lines that Brendon wanted to fit his curves up against, and Brendon couldn’t look away, even when Jon came up behind Brendon, placing sucking kisses on his neck. 

Not until Spencer got on his knees in front of Brendon, naked, too, and beautiful in a strikingly different way from Ryan. Brendon was sort of fascinated with the dip of Spencer's belly and the soft curve of his hips. Spencer wrapped his fingers around Brendon's tights and waited. 

Brendon nodded shakily, watching Spencer watch the new skin as it was bared. It was scary, Jon’s hands fell on his hips, reassuring. His hands were big and warm, and his fingers curved over the jut of Brendon’s pelvic bone and stroked lower, making Brendon’s back arch, hips pressing out towards Spencer. 

He thought he might die of the embarrassment, but Spencer just gave him a wicked grin and leaned forward to place a kiss just below Jon’s fingers and Brendon thought he might just come from that. 

Spencer stood, tossing Brendon’s tights aside and laced their fingers together, pulling him towards the bed. Brendon had thought plenty of times about their bed, and all the things that might be taking place in it, and he’d never hoped to be invited into it. Ryan was laid out in the centre, watching them, eyes dark and heavy on Brendon’s skin. 

Brendon climbed up with him, nervous, and it was awkward, trying to figure out where he was supposed to lay. Then Ryan sat up and kissed him, pulling Brendon with him when he lay back down. Ryan’s long fingers wound in Brendon’s hair, so it was someone else’s hand on his spine, smoothing up the outside of his thigh. 

The room got cold around them, and Brendon was worried he was going to make it start snowing indoors, too. He pulled back from the kiss, shivering. “We can turn the heat up,” Ryan said, smiling fondly. He brushed his hand across Brendon’s cheek. 

Brendon smiled back. “It’s okay. I think I can keep it under control.” 

“Oh?” Ryan asked, like it was a personal challenge, and just to test Brendon, wrapped his fingers around Brendon’s erection. Brendon shuddered and moaned, thrusting his hips forward. 

Spencer fit himself behind Brendon, pressing his hardness against Brendon’s ass. One hand tangled with Ryan’s, squeezing just right, with the fingers of his other hand pinched at Brendon’s nipple. Jon kissed Brendon just in time to swallow his cry as he came. 

“I’m sorry,” he panted. He couldn’t open his eyes, didn’t want to see their disappointment or scorn. “I couldn’t—”

Jon chuckled in Brendon’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It won’t be the last time, tonight.” The words made Brendon’s heart catch in his throat. 

Spencer rolled Brendon off Ryan’s lap, onto his back, pinning him with kisses. Brendon opened his legs without even having to think about it, and Spencer settled between them. 

“What do you want?” Spencer asked against his lips. 

“I…I don’t know, I haven’t really…” Brendon trailed off. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about it, but all that thinking didn’t really help. He had no idea what any of it would be like, beyond vague imaginings. 

“If you don’t want to,” Jon said and Brendon said quickly, “I do, I do. I just don’t know how it all…works.” 

They all shared smirks around him and Spencer sat up, scooting down Brendon’s body. “How about you just tell us what feels good, and what doesn’t?” he asked. Ryan passed him a bottle and Spencer opened the cap, squeezing some of the liquid onto his fingers. 

Brendon knew what it was. He even had a basic idea of what Spencer intended to do. It still didn’t prepare him for the first touch of Spencer’s fingers between his thighs. Brendon tensed, biting down on a loud gasp. Ryan lay beside him, running a hand over Brendon’s brow, and kissed his lips gently until Brendon relaxed. 

Spencer’s fingers brushed lower, and it didn’t tickle anymore. The pleasure was teasing, the promise of more. “This okay?” Spencer asked. His mouth was close to Brendon’s thigh, his breath damp and warm. 

Brendon nodded blindly. “Mmmhmm,” he moaned. 

Spencer’s finger circled slowly and Brendon felt himself moving into the touch, relaxing, body going loose. The finger slid in, strange for a second, but not painful. When Spencer pulled back, Brendon’s hips rolled up, chasing the sensation. 

Spencer kissed his hip and pushed the finger back in, working slow at first, but letting Brendon’s hips urge him fast, and when Spencer slid in a second finger alongside the first, Brendon groaned, feeling open and exposed and sexy. 

“Please,” he said, not sure what he was asking for, but trusting them to know. He was hard again, and he didn’t know it _happened_ like that, but he wasn’t complaining. He wanted so much more. He wanted them all, together and separately, every way he could have them. 

Ryan grabbed the bottle from where it had fallen by Brendon’s thigh and got his own hand slick. He kissed Brendon again, and the angle was strange when he eased a third finger in beside Spencer’s, but it made something spark behind Brendon’s eyes, pulsing hot. It was the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt and he arched his back, thrusting down on their hands, trying to feel it again. 

Their fingers slipped out of Brendon’s body and his eyes flew open. “Wait,” he said, “I want—”

Jon silenced him with a kiss, climbing between Brendon’s legs when Spencer moved aside. “This okay?” he asked, erection slick and hot between Brendon’s legs, pressing against his opening. 

It was sweet, Brendon thought, but they didn’t have to keep asking. Wasn’t it obvious? He nodded his head and Jon laid his forehead against Brendon’s, and pushed. There was a moment of resistance, then Jon swivelled his hips and rocked forward, sinking in all in one slide. 

Jon stopped, thighs resting against Brendon’s ass, eyes shut tight. Brendon thought he could watch Jon like this forever, face twisted up in pleasure. His fingers were bruising tight on Brendon’s hips and Brendon liked that Spencer and Ryan treated him gently. He also liked that Jon didn’t, entirely. 

Brendon hooked his legs around Jon’s and Jon took that as his cue to move, sliding out just a little and pushing back in with enough force to make Brendon scoot up the bed a few inches. The drag was so good and the angle was right that Jon hit the place Ryan had found. “Yes, please, Jon,” Brendon whimpered. He wrapped his arms around Jon’s shoulders and held on tight. 

It lasted longer this time. It didn’t have the same sharp, desperate edge as when Ryan had touched him. He could enjoy every sensation, every skitter of pleasure, letting it build. Jon bent his head, and whispered, “Look at them.” 

Brendon let his head fall to the side. Spencer was straddling Ryan’s hips, riding him in time with Jon’s thrusts. Both Spencer and Ryan were watching Brendon and Jon moving together. Brendon thought irrationally that it wasn’t fair that they couldn’t all be together at once. 

Ryan reached out a hand, working between Jon and Brendon’s bodies, closing around Brendon’s erection. His fingers were turning out to be just as amazing as Brendon had thought. “Please,” Brendon said again, head thrown back on the pillow. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jon whispered, lips on Brendon’s throat. “Come on. Come for me, I want to see it.” He stopped thrusting, moving his hips in a slow grind, right where Brendon wanted him. 

Ryan’s thumb teased over the head of Brendon’s erection, and with all of that, how could he deny Jon? His mouth dropped open on a wordless cry. Jon’s hips jerked twice more and he stilled again, groaning Brendon’s name against his skin. 

Brendon felt loose and tingly all over and so content. He sighed in loss when Jon slipped out, but he came back quickly, curling up against Brendon’s side and throwing an arm over him. Ryan lay against his other side, lacing their fingers together. “Okay?” Ryan murmured sleepily. 

Brendon smiled, kissing Ryan’s hair. “You don’t have to keep asking me that,” he said. “And that was way better than okay.” 

“Yep,” Jon said, voice smug. Brendon didn’t complain. Jon totally deserved to be smug after that. 

“You got us the best Christmas present ever, Ryan,” Spencer said, and sounded half asleep. Brendon fumbled around blindly to touch him, and Spencer helped, winding an arm around Ryan to rest his hand on Brendon’s waist. 

Brendon felt so warm and complete, in a way he didn’t know was possible. Like he hadn’t even realised anything was missing. “I love you all, so much,” he said. He didn’t expect an answer. He just wanted to _tell_ them, but he was met with three murmurs returning the sentiment. 

* 

Spencer didn’t remember falling asleep the night before, but he woke up warm and comfortable on Christmas morning, spooned from behind by Jon. Brendon lay between him and Ryan, and they were already awake, sharing sleepy kisses.

There was a shower where more groping took place than actual cleaning, but Spencer wouldn’t complain, especially when it meant getting to watch Brendon fuck Ryan against the wall while getting a hand-job from Jon. Not for the first time since moving into the house, Spencer silently thanked Ryan for having the walk-in shower installed.

They had slept half of the morning away, and were supposed to meet at Spencer’s parents’ house in two hours. There were still presents to be wrapped and pies to be made, but as soon as Ryan saw the blanket of snow outside, he jumped up, scrambling to get dressed and get on shoes. He ran down to let the dogs out in the back yard to play in the snow. “I have to get pictures of this,” Jon said, grinning, and hurried after. 

Spencer made better pies than them, anyway. Brendon joined him in the kitchen, having gone to the guest room to change. When he’d taken off, he’d left a lot of his things behind, and he came down in a pair of his girl jeans and one of Spencer’s sweater tees. 

“Can I borrow this?” Brendon asked, plucking at the shirt. 

Spencer just smiled and pinned Brendon to the counter with his hips. “You’re not going to take off if I kiss you again, are you?” he asked. 

Brendon laughed and kissed him, and somehow it was better. Brendon was surer. And they were already running late, but Brendon’s hips began to press back. Spencer’s parents could wait. He really wanted to suck Brendon’s cock. 

He got on his knees and Brendon’s fingers threaded through his hair. Spencer undid the button of the jeans and eased down the zipper, working his hand inside. He pulled Brendon’s cock out, thumbing the slit and Brendon’s eyes fluttered shut. 

“Spencer,” he whispered. His fingers tightened and loosened in Spencer’s hair. “Sorry.” 

“Mmm. I like it,” Spencer said, kissing Brendon’s stomach. “You can pull.” Then he closed his mouth around the head of Brendon’s cock, sucking lightly. Brendon moaned, fingers tightening again, hips thrusting forward. Spencer relaxed his jaw, took him in all the way; sucking Ryan Ross’ cock turned one into a pro at deep throating. 

“Spencer,” Brendon panted. He moved his hips restlessly. “I don’t think I can…” He tugged hard on Spencer’s hair. Spencer hummed around his mouthful and Brendon tugged again, coming down Spencer’s throat. 

“Fuck,” Brendon said. He slid down the front of the cabinet, breathing heavily. He touched a finger to Spencer’s cheek, just by his lips and Spencer’s tongue darted out, licking the smear of come. “Fuck,” Brendon repeated. 

He leaned forward, kissing Spencer hard, fumbling with the fastenings of Spencer’s pants and finally, _finally_ getting Spencer’s cock in hand. His touch was clumsy and fast, inexperienced at touching another, and that was Spencer’s only excuse for coming ridiculously quickly, sharing Brendon’s breath. 

When Ryan and Jon came in to find the pies only just going into the oven, they gave Spencer a look to let him know they’d pay him back later for having Brendon to himself. His mouth still tasted like Brendon, though, so he figured it was worth it. 

They made it to his parents’ house only twenty minutes late, which, in a life as Ryan’s best friend and lover, wasn’t even remotely the latest he’d ever been. His mother greeted them all with kisses, even Brendon. 

Before Christmas dinner, they exchanged gifts, crowded together in the den. Spencer only felt slightly guilty for bringing home three boys. It wasn’t like he was going to be bringing home any _grandchildren_ anytime soon, though, so he figured it evened out. 

“Why did your mom get me a present?” Brendon hissed at Spencer, while everyone was busy ripping paper off. 

“Because she knows I love you,” Spencer said, kissing him soft and quick. “And so she loves you, too.” 

Ryan said, “Stop kissing my boyfriend,” and Jackie rolled her eyes at Crystal and said, “Which one are you talking to?” and Spencer knew he was lucky to have the most open-minded family in the history of ever. 

*

They stayed at Spencer’s house until well after midnight, and it was Christmas, but it wasn’t what Brendon had come to expect of Christmas. Spencer’s family made duck instead of turkey, and most of the other dishes were things Brendon had never had before, and it was all delicious. 

After, they watched the _Die Hard_ marathon on T.V., which was so much more awesome than watching _A Christmas Story_ on loop for weeks on end. No one batted an eye when Spencer, Jon, Brendon and Ryan piled together on the too small loveseat, arms and legs all twisted together, holding hands. 

There was leftover duck on bread for dinner and then they played board games at the big dining room table, while Jon, Ryan and Spencer’s dad did the dishes. Brendon was just in awe of that. Men never did the dishes in Christmastown, unless they lived by themselves. Brendon thought maybe it was better this way. Plus he liked it when Jon came in, hands warm from the water, and scented like lime, and he totally helped Brendon cheat at his current hand. 

The snow had mostly melted throughout the day, but Brendon was so happy and content that he let another coat dust the ground as they drove home. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said, resting in Ryan’s arms, watching the scenery pass from the backseat window. “You guys have to stop making me so happy.” 

Ryan chuckled and kissed his forehead. “I’ll do my best.” 

They fell into bed tired and happy, but not _too_ tired. Laughing gave way to sighs, and clothes were shed. And Brendon didn’t know how he’d gotten to be here, surrounded by the three people he loved, but however it had happened, he was so, so thankful, and it had been the best Christmas ever. He would totally never bitch about Christmas again. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to behindthec for betaing and making me smile a lot in the process. Any mistakes left are down to my stupidity. Thanks to my Muse for pretending to be excited about bandom and role-playing Spencer with me when I try to make him too nice.  
> Title comes from the song "All I Want For Christmas Is You." Because I'm cheesy, but not that cheesy


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